


Equilibrium

by vanilume



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Love/Hate, Mages, Mages and Templars, Magic, Multi, Other, Slow Build, Stolen Moments, Templars, relearning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:45:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 42,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3830893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanilume/pseuds/vanilume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evelyn Trevelyan had been made Tranquil early in her life.<br/>And as such, all she knew and understood was almost solely that pale life.</p><p>But as she finds herself wrapped into the Inquisition, and becoming its Herald; she has to deal with everything that floods to her - emotion, magic and responsibility - all whilst needing to exude the divine presence her followers so dearly believe her to be.</p><p>She might be logical, since her time as Tranquil, but it makes it no easier in everyday life.</p><p> </p><p>This story is in a first-draft version, and will be seconded/beta-checked once more completed!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another story, this time more spun over the true timeline of the Dragon Age:Inquisition one.
> 
> Shameless pairing up!
> 
> Enjoy the story! <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet our Tranquil in question, and see the first few notable moments through her eyes, as well as Commander Cullen's.
> 
>  
> 
> **  
> Art is by yours truly!

 

The Breach had appeared sudden, shocking every spectator to their very core.

It had been no different for the Commander of the Inquisiton.

The time it had taken to strategize the forces and order them into blockades, scouting groups and soldiers all seemed a blur for the Commander.

Now he was there, square in the heat of the battle, a fade rift summoning demons from green mists that licked the ground. His men fought bravely, countering the vile creatures as they sought to end them, and infect the lands.

Cullen, as was the Commander's name, was focused intently on a fury demon, a singeing firey beast that could strike with great force, as well as incinerate quite effectively. But the Commander, a former templar and skillful at his craft, fought it with a glorious combat's ease. If he was anything a fish in water, it would be with a sword in his hand and a shield in the other.

 

The demon swiped at him furiously, giving him little time to recuperate between each blow. Still, he took few of them as direct hits onto blade or shield, mostly quick-footedness and letting the flaming claws slide of his sword was his tactic. Even so, sweat glistened on his temples and collar, and he couldn’t claim to not be tired.

It struck from the right, two fiery fingers groaning against his breast plate, just behind the shield.

_Maker’s Breath!_

He flinched to his opposite side, letting his sword arc down over the demon’s neck. It shouted a terrible, ringing screech and staggered, seemingly wounded even as it simply melted into itself again. Curse them.

Cullen stabbed at its chest area, using his longsword as a rapier from behind his shield. The roar that left the creature was deafening, and he stepped back, leaning into the strike that followed the sound. The hit was relentless, and he nearly buckled under the weight it carried.

He swung his sword from beneath, cutting through the arm it just presented to him. Foolishly, he boldly followed its stagger this time, swinging over his head to slice its shoulder, but it surprised him as it bore down with its entire head at him, black teeth thudding against his protection. He almost lost his footing on the snow-covered ground, and had to lean the shield to his shoulder, before piercing the demon straight through its wicked heart. It convulsed against his blade, spitting sizzling blood before dissipating into the rift again. He tumbled back as its counterforce left him, and he caught himself just in the moment of skidding onto the ground.

His chest heaved, but the repose was welcome, and he immediately turned to inspect his men’s work. They too were just about finished, banding together to take out whatever demon skirted in the edges of what seemed their maximum radius from the rift.

He let a deep breath shudder out of him, and he swiped his sword arm across his forehead, appreciating the coolness it brought with it.

As he holstered his shield to his back, he started his way towards the Temple of Sacred ashes – or what was left of it after the explosion.

But suddenly the rift surged once the last demon had been slay, and new mists bloomed on the ground, slowly taking the forms of whatever dreadful spirit the rift was summoning. He took his sword into both of his hands, charging at the closest mist.

The creature had barely entered the real world before his cold sword sunk deep into its chest cavern, penetrating its heart expertly. The Commander liked combat, but he despised little else more than demons. His entire life prior to the Inquisition had been in service to the formari – the Circle of Mages – for keeping the mages in control of their power, and in control over demons that sought to possess their bodies. Nothing sane drove these foul beings, only raw emotions and a deep desire to enter their living world, be a part of it, _corrupt it-_

A shade rushed towards him, arms drawn out in a big gesture to strike from both sides. He jumped back, meeting its bodice with the edge of his blade, and pulling it across once he ducked out of its trajectory. It screeched in the damage, and quickly twisted to have at his back, and it might just had been able to strike him if a sudden eruption of ice encapsulated it fully, shattering only seconds sooner.

Cullen watched in slight surprise, his brows furrowing between his tired eyes. With mouth slightly ajar, he looked over his shoulder to see Seeker Cassandra and her party charging into the fray of his troops. He breathed in relief.

It didn’t take long for them to dispatch the last of the summoned spirits.

 

But then shining armour stepped into his vision. He didn’t recognize it, or its bearer. The white-headed woman rushed towards the rift, extending her shield-arm at it.

At an instant, her palm lit up, a green light surging into the rift, making it pulsate, destabilizing and finally imploding upon itself.

He watched in utter disbelief, only starting his approach to the group once the light faded. The woman had his back to him then, and Cullen met Lady Cassandra’s gaze as he jogged towards them.

“Lady Cassandra! You were able to close the rift? Well done.” He started, a twinge of a question lacing his words, as it clearly hadn’t been Cassandra that had willed the rift to close. She saw it sure enough.

“This was not my doing, Commander. Congratulate the prisoner, she’s the reason we’ve been able to see this so far.” Cassandra replied more introductory than anything, turning to face the white-headed stranger.

Cullen watched her carefully.

As soon as their party had joined the battle, a strange presence had alerted him; a powerful magical aura. It was something all Templars could feel in any moment, as soon as a mage entered their vicinity. It was a sixth sense; like feeling you were being watched.

The feeling was a humming of magic between him and the mage in question, the stronger or closer the mage, the stronger the hum of it. And this feeling rippled through him like he hadn’t felt in ages. His muscles tensed involuntarily, blood boiling in his ears. The stranger must be incredibly versed in her magical abilit-

She turned, her impeccable armour resounding, and draped cloth battle-skirt swaying in the movement.

He was stunned then, his whole conscious reeling as he saw her face. His eyes sat wide in his features; a breath settling in his chest.

 

A mark sat upon her forehead; _a formari sun_ , branded into the center of it.

The Mark of a Tranquil.

He could not believe it. Was he suffering ill? Was he seeing visions from the rift? He should not be sensing **_anything_** magical about her. She shouldn’t even **_be_** in battle.

This couldn’t be, it just wasn’t possible… How was he feeling her presence? Sure, Solas was there, but his aura wasn’t nearly as… alive.

 

 

_Maker, preserve us._

 

His body forced the breath to be exhaled, and it made him snap back into reality, however unreal it seemed just then.

Her neutral expression – no, there’s a crease between her brows – and bright eyes met his. An ethereal feeling washed over him at the sight of her. She was bruised and bleeding but her wounds only made her even more undeniably real. If he wanted to, he could have reached out a hand to her steel surface once she approached. The thought shook him.

 

_I must be mad._

She watched him, a daunting look in her focused stare.

“Ah, is that so?” He started, unsure about what he was actually meaning to say. She unnerved him.

“Then I hope they’re right about you… We’ve lost a lot of lives trying to get you here.” He continued, a slight anger boiling up inside as she seemingly defied reality, and at the same time made his blood shiver with each passing of his heart. He was sure it seeped with every word, but he was too deep in contemplation then. His hand found rest on the pommel of his sword, a nervous compulsion he had when he sought some steadfast purchase.

“I hope so too” Her reply was brief, but no less effective in keeping him frozen in the… pure blasphemy of her standing in front of him and being _real._ The tone was calm, neutral.

It must be a façade; a trick.

He had to make sense of it all just then, and he wanted to pass it as a lie – some kind of inked painting in her skin – but even so, he could see how it distorted her skin, how the darker colour of it wasn’t just that; colour, but the look of embossed skin. Not all Circles branded their mages with fire and brim, but it was exclusively to Circles nonetheless. He had no explanation for himself.

She cocked her head at him, a deep discomfort settling over her features, even as subtle as it was. The disturbance echoed in her aura, and he felt her magic pulse with her heartbeat.

_No, no doubt was she real._

 “We’ll see about that soon enough, won’t we?” He said, the anger lacing his words unfairly. He shouldn’t be so conflicted over her mere existence. He’d need to think of it later anyway.

He ignored the _Tranquil_ then, assuming a certain commandeering air about him again.

He spoke with Cassandra, reassuring her that the way ahead into the Temple should be cleared and safe enough for their passage.

With her nod, he prayed the Maker would keep them all safe in their quest to close the Breach. He left them then, joining his troops as they strode onto another path that split to the outside of the Temple. He braced under a soldier that limped behind the group, and brought him along with an arm draped over his shoulders.

For now he focused on the task at hand.

 

 

___

It didn’t actually take long before the Breach was reacting just like the rift had done before him. The moments that followed its closing were astoundingly silent, like all of Thedas held a breath in anticipation – and the hours that followed soon after were glorious.

The celebration raged in Haven, as all that were established cherished the victory throughout the rest of the day, evening and night. It was, of course, soon noted that it wasn’t truly closed, only dormant, as Solas wisely pointed out in the great annunciation.

The new reached far and wide, spreading like wildfire in the noble houses and across the cities. Of course, it didn’t take long for the nickname for _her_ to catch on, having started in Haven anyway.

The Herald of Andraste, they called; musing it like she was as divine as the Victoria of the Chantry herself. It was dreadfully heretical to all devout andrastian Chantry followers. It sent a direct message to the Chantry as a whole, and the denouncing of the Inquisition soon followed. Lady Josphine, the incredibly versed diplomat of the order, had expected as much once she heard it was being used.

The Commander himself didn’t make much of it as he drank with his soldiers, praising their bravery and skill. He sat with them for as long as the celebration went on, happy to be able to at all. The fate of the world seemed sealed in the grim hours that the Breach whirled in the heavens. It was a divine accomplishment, he had to say, and perhaps he would’ve sung the title himself if he wasn’t so torn on what the white-headed stranger actually was.

The Herald had yet to show herself since the happening, but they had all been assured she was only resting from the strain of her power.

The dawn to come would have to answer his questions.

 

___

 

As she blinked her eyes, the light shone starkly next to her, but it was welcoming, and she stirred gently. The ceiling that met her gaze was surprising to say the least, and she started fully, opening her eyes to see where she was.

The room she lay in was warm, furnished with simple wooden pieces and then decorated with books and a desk with supplies for use. It seemed fairly impersonal, like anyone could lay here and awaken to live in it right away. But to Evelyn, it wasn’t a feeling of security and home that washed over her and made her heart sink slowly.

She scrambled to sit up, legs swinging across the bed side as she scanned the room more intently. It was better than a cell, as she’d last awoken in, but not all cells are meant to frighten, she thought discouragingly, bracing her bare feet against the floor, wanting to stand.

Suddenly a gasp broke the silence of the chamber and a wooden box crashed to the floor; whatever contents there were in it following, the shards skidding across the ground.

Evelyn twisted fast to the source, taking in the sight of a small she-elf staggering back at the sight of _her._ A furrow nested between her brows, and she inspected the elf for a moment.

“I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!” She said defensively, as if she needed to answer to me.

“Do not be frightened, Da’len.” Evelyn spoke serenely, even as the strange emotion of guilt swept through her person. The she-elf only seemed more shocked at her comment.

The elf fell to her knees, her hands finding the floor in a defeated manner.

“I beg your forgiveness and blessing. I am but a humble servant.” She pleaded sorrowfully. Evelyn felt her sorrow pass through her. She didn’t like that emotion.

“You’re back in Haven, my Lady.” She continued, as to answer Evelyn’s quizzical look.

“They say you saved us. The breach stopped growing, just like that mark on your hand.”

Evelyn brought her hand up at the remark, a feeling of knowledge and tense power in the palm of it. It shone as she looked at it, as if by request- because she wasn’t quite sure how to handle it by will like that.

“It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days.”

Evelyn glanced back at the elf, the small figure averting her own gaze.

“So, we are... safe then.” It was strange to say it, Evelyn thought, as she could also _feel_ it once she knew what had happened.

It was odd to... _feel._

The elf stirred from her stiff position, backing up and away from Evelyn.

“I’m certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you’ve wakened. She said ‘at once’.”

Lady Cassandra.

“And where is she?” Evelyn got up to stand, still watching the elf move away. She had a very meek way about her, it made Evelyn feel pity.

“- in the Chantry, with the Lord Chancellor. At once, she said!”

The door opened and closed briefly, leaving Evelyn in the silence again.

She fingered at her marked palm idly, looking over the abode again. She noticed new details then, letters and stuffed away clothes; her armour gleaming in the humble light of the fireplace that warmed her person.

She enjoyed the silence now, as it didn’t hang with the stress of uncertainty. Her features settled in neutrally, even as the alien emotions rippled through her being.

She hadn’t felt before. She remembered. There was a long time in her life, when all seemed… pale compared to now. It was logical, easy to live in… but she wasn’t sure if that was better than this anymore.

She had been told just before her Rite of Tranquility, she’d never regret becoming serene. The grim irony of the statement made her uncomfortable now, as she thought about it, but she also realized how untrue it was. She had believed it before, all of her life. Now it seemed not more than a distant whisper; a lie.

Life was vibrant now; strange, uncertain and utterly stressful, but colourful nonetheless.

 

She let the thoughts digress, and routinely clad her in the armour she’d arrived in; arrived to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It was safe to be in armour, she remarked to herself, as to never forget _feeling_ again.

She tied her white hair high into a horse’s cascade, and went on her way to find Lady Cassandra.

 

___

 

Haven was bustling with life, all of its people lining the pathway up to the Chantry. They were out to see _her,_ to see their holy saviour and Herald of Andraste. She was a benediction in each step, and people crowned over each other to see her. Her white hair framed her sun-kissed face; a Gloria, her silver-like armour glistened like the precious metal; Andraste’s divine favour giving her the otherworldly aura.

The icy blue orbs that were her eyes made people divert their own in their intensity. Like their worth wasn’t great enough to be gaze upon, and let be gazed back.

All that was her seemed blessed to them, and a curse to _her._

She noticed now how people would stare at her appearance, and it was unnerving.

She was ignorant to her effect, only deeming it as an alien trait of un-tranquil souls.

It all made her unbearably anxious, but she boldly made her way through them, defaulting to her serene expression; one she felt like she’d worn in all her life. Whatever they were doing to her, she wanted away.

 

As she made her way further toward the Chantry, the crowds cleared up slightly, and more official looking folk walked around, and past her. She welcomed the silence it brought, as the crowds prior had whispered in low voices, like poisonous gossip to her ears.

The look of the building itself brought her some peace, as she had been particular as Tranquil to visit a Chantry often, and say prayers. Perhaps she could, once she had spoken to Lady Cassandra.

 

__

 

The meeting with the Lady Seeker had been brief at first, as a certain Lord Chancellor had leeched at their time, spitting unkind words and emotions onto Evelyn and the Inquisition that Lady Cassandra and Lady Leliana so dearly believed in. It had made Evelyn upset, to say the least, and whilst her body wanted to react to him, lash out, her mind was still reeling in the feeling of sentiment, _for anything_. She had steeled herself, a thing she didn’t know she did until Lady Cassandra had pointed it out post argument.

He wanted her chained, to begin with; a proposition that frightened her more than she would admit to, ever. She knew the act of it since before.

He had claimed her a heretic, a blasphemous apparition, “ _not to speak of her mark_ ”, as he’d so gracefully put it. Even as it had made her… _angry_ , Lady Cassandra’s reply of her descending to Haven being providence wasn’t giving her any peace. She thought of the Maker often, as a Tranquil, she remembered, but her logical impulses told her he couldn’t exist; couldn’t act so omnipresently, and now she was unsure.

She came to realize she despised feeling unsure.

Her retaliation was unasnwering to his accusations, as well as Lady Cassandra’s, it left for more to be wanted, but she didn’t want to choose a side; especially not the Lord Chancellor’s unpleasant perspective.

But as it was, the Lord Chancellor had left them, and let Evelyn feel relief in his wake.

The two ladies had spoken to her about the troubles that plagued Evelyn’s arrival, and how she – and the Breach – had forced their hand to reinstate the Inquisition; that Evelyn had believed was already in act, but she digressed and listened to their cause, as it seemed just.

Her spirit had soared when Lady Cassandra had told her of how her arrival also had given them a purpose: to close the Breach for good, and find the perpetrator. Evelyn believed then that the Inquisition was not for evil, as the Lord Chancellor would’ve tried, but for the greater good of Thedas.

With that, Evelyn could eagerly say that finding a purpose in such a hurried, _unfamiliar_ world was like no other. It made her truly happy, and as such she agreed to aid them, her strange mark and all of herself included.

 

 

Haven had seemed bustling without end after that, as it prepared to meet the requirements of being called an order. Evelyn found herself fleetingly present at each stage; requested by all of the people around Haven to attend in the making of the Inquisition: the blacksmith, the soldiers, the scouts and spies, the mages that attended to healing and potions, the priests and gospel of the Chantry, and all of the busy lives in the village. She didn’t even know half of the positions they claimed to have in the Inquisition.

It was intimidating, and she often found herself more out of place the more they looked up to her; praised her and prayed her title. Herald.

She tried escaping as much as she could, but there were always another pair of hands clutching for her presence.

Only the inner circle of the Inquisition seemed like a welcome embrace in comparison. However, soon enough the working folk of Haven couldn’t spare the time even for the Herald, as the Commander, Seeker, Spymaster and Ambassador hounded them and their efforts on schedule. She appreciated their commandeering more than she actively showed for; unintentionally, of course.

But in the end she stood there in the light again, the advisors behind her back, and the hopeful eyes of Haven at the base of the stairwell. They looked to her, took in her visage like her tangible-ness was a blessing onto itself. She really didn’t like it. In her mind, silent chants desperately tried to distract her from the unpleasant stare of the people, and she found herself looking onto the Breach, unfocused and unwilling.

Perhaps she could slip out of “feeling” and become Tranquil by will-

Ridiculous, she knew, but she could still wish.

As soon as their make-shift ceremony was complete, Evelyn slipped past the advisors into the Chantry, forcing herself to walk dignified. Even as she was ignorant to her effect, she had been told at many occasions by Lady Cassandra what her presence meant for the followers of the Inquisition, and there for willed herself to act the part they believed her to be.

She imagined the Commander appreciated her efforts, as he watched her movements keenly. She supposed it affirmed it, at least.

Once out bounds of the ceremony, Evelyn slipped into a quiet chamber in the Chantry, and propped herself to quietly chant whatever canticle came to her. Peace drifted over her being, and she eased herself to the idea of being so important to so many.

It didn’t last long, because it irked her endlessly.

 

Undeservingly loved.

 

_Yes, loved._

___

 

Lady Josephine was a great distraction from all of the work the Commander had to plan out for the days following the ceremony, and weeks, and months. It had only been a week since the ceremony itself, but he started feeling a sense of calm in Haven’s growing business with armouring up and recruiting forces; training the novices. It was what he was brought here to do, and so he did it; professional expertise even in his shouts as he watched the recruits practice in the yard. It was all an appreciated distraction, he admitted to himself.

Any chance he could avoid the Herald; as he’d taken to calling her over the “Tranquil”- which sat badly in his head and heart – was a welcome respite. Her mere vicinity made his body tense and sweat in the restrain of not nullifying her on the spot. It was a disgusting, primal feeling of needing to dispatch her. He hated it to no end, imagining himself no better than an abomination if he ever succumbed.

“-so he had made art out of their smallclothes, and strung it up over the tavern balcony in Val Royeaux!” Josephine breathed out between chuckles. Her chocolate skin was tinted red in the unhindered laugh that wrinkled her nose, and made her eyes squint. She held her agenda tightly in her arms, almost crumbling the pages in her fits of laughter.

He chuckled with her, hands bracing against the war table. He enjoyed all of her stories coming from the posh orleasian aristocracy.

“Ah, orleasian culture… You are a saint for tired Commanders, Josephine.” He praised her, letting another chortle shake him. He straightened up, a hand clad in soft leather swiping under his eyes as to dab at the wetness there; another hand hanging loosely over the pommel of his sword.

As they were winding down from her ridiculous stories, Leliana entered silently, reading letters and reports. Her neutral expression said little about what the correspondence addressed, and both Cullen and Josephine returned to inspecting their own matters they’d brought along for the adjourning of the council.

“Lady Cassandra will be here in but a moment, my dear colleagues; I’d suggest you let the next few stories have a rest until we’re finished.” Leliana noted nonchalantly, turning a page to continue her read.

The two in question shared a look of mutual understanding of Leliana’s presence. Yes, it would have to wait, but neither of them minded.

The Commander assumed his readings as well.

 

Like the Spymaster had estimated, Lady Cassandra arrived ‘soon enough’, and they all seemed to have just about finished reading as she – and the mysterious Herald – stepped in.

Cullen enclosed on the table, chin tilted up slightly higher than he would’ve approved for himself, but the feeling had begun surging inside of him moments before they entered. Her bright eyes shot to him.

“You’ve met Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces.” Lady Cassandra introduced him, watching the Herald.

Cullen let a curt smile spread on his lips; eyes perhaps not as happy as they should’ve been.

“It was only for a moment on the field. I am please you’ve survived.” He exuded his determined commandeering presence with every word; powerful.

The Herald moved not a muscle as he spoke, only blinking as to seem… awake?

Lady Cassandra continued with the introductions; fumbling slightly as to introduce what Lady Leliana did as spymaster. No doubt it was amusing, but yet the Herald was very still, until it was her time to speak.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” Her eyes fluttered between them, seemingly staring at the Commander just long enough for him to notice that discomfort he’d seen before, settle on her features for but a moment. It was a little ‘hurtful’ he supposed, but made no note of it. She probably felt his disturbing aura just as clearly as he felt hers.

Cassandra quickly moved onto the subject they’d been summoned to discuss; closing the Breach by entailing power to the Herald’s mark; either through mages or Templars as aid.

The Commander was quick to note his perturbation with asking rebel mages to be the power source; with reason for their magic being too unstable and potentially risking all lives that would be involved. If not to say opening the Breach again instead – pure speculation, as the spymaster so gratifyingly noted – but he made no note of his last thought.

The argument had been ongoing between the inner circle ever since Leliana and Cassandra had started the discussion. Never had it been concluded, as Cullen just could not find himself agreeing overall. Alas, Josephine was quite the diplomatic bridge even then, and assumed no side; only overseeing the fact that we didn’t jump each other at the war table, whenever there was an argument.

Absolutely ridiculous she’d need be doing that, to the Commander, but he didn’t say that to her. He assumed all the people present at such meetings would be hand-picked to fit their position; and retain the greatest good in their mind for the Inquisition, and the cause.

The adjourning today was no different, and he quickly busied himself fighting back Cassandra and Leliana’s advances with mages, but eventually Josephine broke up the bickering – duly pointed out by the Herald’s ever growing unease as they bit at each other’s throats, so to speak.

Josephine continued by announcing the new of the Chantry’s denunciation and accusations on the Inquisition as well as the Herald specifically. The Herald herself seemed no more disturbed by the fact, but she nodded in acknowledgement.

She asked of the risks they suffered as long as she stayed with them, as was only fair of her to ask.

Cullen was quick to point out that the Chantry's ludicrous acclamations were nothing but words – the Chantry had little power to act boldly but through letters and signing papers.

Josephine reciprocated his statement like the ambassador she was, and how she knew what simply words could to do fell a menace; by making it become the beast in the eyes of a hunter.

If the Chantry truly wanted to besiege the Inquisition, they need only turn the blind eye of their followers to them.

Leliana continued then with addressing a certain Mother Gisselle’s request to have an audience with the Herald, personally, in the vast expanse of the Hinterlands. To which the Herald replied dutifully she’d do so as soon as possible.

She was seemingly courageous, this woman, but perhaps it was just her endless sense of obligation that drove her. The Commander couldn’t tell, of course, as her reactions were limited to discomfort – in his case - and a neutral understanding of what she would need to do.

Her mark still boggled him, and he had been tempted to ask her about it, but refrained as it sat inappropriate in his mind. Her ‘unique’ rejoinder of his appearance discouraged him.

Once the meeting had been concluded, and the Herald had strategized her approach to the Hinterlands – quite expertly he’d been pleasantly surprised – he remains to stare at the map of Orlais and Ferelden. Their mark of mission stood square over the Hinterlands center.

His expression must’ve piqued Leliana, as she approached his hunched form that hung over the table.

“You know, Commander, an onlooker might just suspect those concerned glances of yours were made in her inconvenience to you; or your admiration of her, perhaps.” She noted the last part in a playful whisper, and it was not lost on him.

He looked at her briefly.

“Truly, you must be mistaken. I do not watch her out of fear, but her… supposed state of mind marvels me.” Cullen replied, his eyes fixated on the metal pawn.

She smirked, rounding his form and leaning onto the table.

“Ah, rightfully so; that woman is a piece of work. I’ve tried myself finding information behind her returned connection with the fade, and the emotions that come flooding with it.”

Leliana looked uninterested as she plucked at her reports again, ordering them straight in a row.

“I cannot imagine how unfamiliar at all must be, considering how young she was made Tranquil in that Circle of hers. Just barely a teenager, and out of control of her power, as far as I’ve gathered.” A sorrow hinted at the spymaster’s words, but the Commander was more apprehensive over the fact she seemed to know so much already about the poor soul.

He didn’t want to be one to pry into such deep, personal matters – not wanting it done to himself – and as such he regret considering it at all.

His gazed gradually came to look out of the war room, into the grand hall of the chantry. Further ahead the Herald walked, her caped waist swaying slowly with each step.

He wanted to understand, but it would be best to do so on her terms, he decided.

Leliana had made her leave then, and the Commander stood alone in the chamber.

Thoughts sizzling between his temples.

The desire to know, to be certain and there for safe… It would be for the best of the Inquisition if he could know when to be near the Herald, keep her powers under control – if it would ever come to that – how she’d need guidance in human customs.

But he still did not want to return to those customs – make her his unwanted charge.

He needed to believe she’d do it for herself.

If she sought guidance, she would find it in any merciful soul here.

She was the Herald, and even as his body told him to loathe her every fiber; as she defied his once purpose, he had to pray that the Maker would keep her safe, and that she’d prevail at all times.

 

She was their Herald from now on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn leaves for her first journey into the Hinterlands, and finds herself quickly absorbed by the work.
> 
> But as she returns home, the weather and the strain has taken a toll; she falls ill with a fever and spends an entire day in bed.  
> Lucky she has such kind companions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless fluffy sick day? I don't mind.

# Chapter 2

 

Evelyn found herself watching the abode of Solas the elven mage, from a comfortable distance.  It was small, inconspicuous, and almost identical to the other homes that surrounded it; dark, weathered wood, a yellow light of candles leaving the few, small windows that sat on the walls. If she had not known what lay in it, and the other few cabins, she might have absently explored the area, as to acquaint herself properly with her new home – for the unforeseeable future. But as it was, the area brimmed with the hum of magic. She had discovered since the battle toward the Breach that she did not enjoy that dismaying aura about lyrium users; templars and mages alike.

She stared, sharply fixated on the empty grounds in front of the cabins. Her form was still, her hand gripping her sword stiffly. She was thinking, and thoughts busied her entire being. She must’ve looked incredibly… Odd, as all who moved past her gave her glances, even if she put much effort on assuming a “normal” social appearance. She just wasn’t capable to, she admitted, and scolded herself for in private moments.

She couldn’t ignore the compulsion to be still and think; she simply had to, to focus her mind in the fast-pace of her world, as it now was.

Mage

The word drifted formlessly across her mind. It twisted and complied under her imagination, but it just wouldn’t take form; perhaps because she didn’t want it to. She felt inconceivably strong, she noted, her whole body feeling lighter than she could ever remember it having felt before. But it wasn’t any novel strength she could tie down to sword-fighting or sparring. It felt alive and sickeningly invigorating. Despite her futile attempts at convincing herself it was indeed repressed magic resurfacing in her veins, her logic didn’t conquer the storm – the fury that was her emotional self.

A pained groan whispered from her lips, how anyone could _live_ like this – feel so much, _ignore_ reason and rime in favour of momentary pleasantries – it was a mystery to her, even as the answer was right there.

Happiness, something that hadn’t, and still wasn’t fully clear to her. She’d recognize it as something fluttering inside of her - some organ losing control? She wasn’t sure – a soaring of her proverbial spirits. Could she hate herself for that?

Did people hate themselves for basking in the sensation?

It was all she had left to explain whatever it was that made her stomach feel full of wool, and her mouth twitch into a smile; completely out of her control. _She had always had control before._

People must hate it. _And absolutely love it._

 

\- Bypassing her logical arguments of being a mage again, it made her content. She compromised with herself, saying she’d never need to use it as she could wield her current weapons with fair expertise. She blatantly lied, and she accepted it.

It was a constant war now, her mind. Like she wasn’t one anymore, and the two sides of _her_ coin were doing everything in their power to undermine the opposite, yet somehow whatever came out as the action she’d perform, it wasn’t quite what she _wanted_. Was this how all people felt?

“My Lady.” A dark voice called, and she recognized it by routine – she had to now.

She snapped abruptly from her day-dreaming state and twisted tensely to see the Commander approaching her casually. He bowed a curt greeting, and she returned the gesture, giving the mages’ area a last look before joining the Commander as he’d asked for her attention; as such she’d give it undividedly.

She stepped to him, one hand now resting upon the hilt of her sword instead of gripping it. He stopped in his advance, a hint of restrain in his person. He seemed a little taken aback by her unmitigated alertness to him, and she did not waver.

“Commander, was there something you wanted?” She sounded inquiring, and his gaze suddenly averted hers, before returning somewhat softened.

“Of course, my apologies. I wish to go over your party composition and task before you mount that caravan to the Hinterlands.” He continued; a cool air about his manners. She nodded, accompanying him as he started a walk toward the courtyard, where she’d usually find him overseeing the trainees dutifully.

Haven was still in the high act of preparing for forces as they entered by the day. They weren’t overwhelming, but they needed space nonetheless; as such people were traversing every ground that needed reworking, including passing through the center, and the Chantry grounds. The Commander split the focused workers with solely his seizing person. They would avoid her in a similar fashion, but more out of reverence and politeness. She wasn’t exactly a force to be reckoned with in the social crowds.

He glanced at her observing eyes as she scanned the faces of the people around her, more discreetly then she’d done before. A slight smile tugged at her lips as she did. She still shied away from any close contacts, but less so from looks. Many smiles met hers as long as she didn’t falter in their gaze.

He walked at her pace, keeping a fair distance.

Soon they reached the training grounds, and Cullen slowed down a good while before his men would spot him in their flurry of shield-bashing and swords clinging.

“My Lady, I might suggest you bring a fair force of soldiers to keep your grounds covered sufficiently.” He started, like he’d thought long about his words.

She nodded absently, noted through the slow bobs of the nodding. She was watching the trainees now.

“I will take that advice, Commander… But I have my own request.”

The Commander looked at her with widened expression.

“Seeker Cassandra had suggested herself to make the journey, as well as Ser Solas and Ser Varric.” The Herald stated bluntly, her eyes returning to him.

He cleared his throat; his eyes unfocused with hers.

“Of course, my Lady. You- I was going to suggest you’d bring any of them, but it seems you are clearly prepared. My apologies.”

She tilted her head ever so slightly, a smooth wrinkle forming at her eyes’ corners; they seemed to be smiling on their own.

“You need not apologize, Commander, you do not hurt me with consideration.” She said, clearly amused by his demeanor. His conflicting behaviors around her still confused her, but she was pleased when he seemed unguarded, more relaxed, however fast it was replaced by the subtle tensing of his person. She swore she could tell easily what he was disheartened at before, but now she inspected him and couldn’t find much of a lead. No doubt it was her aura, no?

He nodded.

“Leliana will be covering the high grounds in the vicinity of Mother Giselle’s establishment; our scouts will scatter ahead of your advance as far as they see fit. Any contacts with permanent villages and people will be done by your hand, my Lady. They will want to see the Herald of Andraste with their own eyes” He noted, continuing with her down the path that lead to the main road out of Haven. She shifted at the title, as fingers trailed the edges of the pommel of her sword.

“The caravan will bring you to the ready-made camp just outside of Mother Giselle’s operations. As the matter seemed urgent from Leliana’s reports; with ragtag bands of Templars and mages roaming the field, our coaches are already packed and you need only give the word.” He concluded his short debriefing, and stopped as they walked onto the bigger, horse paved road. Further down from them stood several practical carriages with soldiers busily studying the load that sat strapped on top. Her features softened into an all-too-familiar tranquil expression, and she nodded.

He swallowed, sucking the inside of his cheeks in a slight frustration.

“I see no point in straying then, Commander. Allow me to retrieve my helm, and gather my party, and I will be off.” She explained, her voice thankfully not as monotone as only a truly tranquil person could sound.

They dismissed from the conversation in polite well-wishing, and she went straight to the task of regrouping the few that had followed her to the Breach. The Commander returned to his trainees, guardedly watching her march through Haven when she wasn’t looking.

He knew it would be ridiculous to try and wet his nose in the party composition; of course she’d be prepared. Of course.

 

 

___

 

 

The journey to the Hinterlands was brief to Evelyn, as she’d drifted off into thought on the way. The Seeker had watched her from horseback just behind her, as the Herald had asked to get to sit on a carriage instead – unused to horseback and bound to end in failure. Varric and Solas occupied little of each other’s attention, and Varric tried various methods to get the Seeker to warm up to him, all of which resulted in a reprimand or glare. He had concluded not only could her cheekbones cut a man’s flesh but so could her glares, much to Solas quiet amusement. The Herald had remarked his silly reasoning behind the statement, and soon they’d found themselves in relaxed banter, the Herald still listening more than actively speaking; it was far more interesting to learn of whatever they spoke about than anything she could contribute. It was hard to make a tranquil life seem exiting in her mind. Graciously, they hadn’t inquired, even if Varric seemed on his edge to do so.

The make-shift camp welcomed the Herald and reported in summaries of the state of affairs. Evelyn had asked few questions, and soon went on with her party into the valley below the camp, as the soldiers that had arrived started settling in supplies and banners to be placed.

Combat had erupted upon arrival at the village, and Cassandra and Evelyn split up in two directions; Cassandra dealing with apostate mages freezing over half of the buildings and Evelyn dispatching rogue Templars that threatened the inhabitants. The soldiers that had come with the caravan were already dealing with groups further down the road through the village.

Solas followed quickly behind Evelyn, but stayed a secure distance away from the Templars at hand. It felt best to deal with physical forces of blades and shields, in her mind, their auras hardly affected a mage that didn’t – someone who didn’t cast spells despite of their capabilities. In fact, it only counted as an advantage, as they were confused by her strange presence that screamed mage, at the same time as Solas surged bolts of lightning at them.

They’d focused a lot of strength into nullifying her, believing it would affect her combat, but she didn’t falter at their attempts even if she felt lax in her head when they did.

Swift strikes at their unprepared stances proved sufficient, and Evelyn managed to drive her blade into a shoulder, forcing a pained shout from one Templar, and having the other circle her right. With helmet in place, she charged boldly at him, testing his will to attack first, which he did, missing a mark he’d set for himself, and earning a mighty crashing with her broad shield. It sent him thudding into the ground, and she followed him, striking at his thigh to incapacitate. Solas joined her side, and bound the Templar to the ground with icy blocks entombing his hands. He fought against the restraints, but came nowhere, just like his comrade laid bleeding on the ground several paces away. They both squirmed with the pain shooting through their wounds.

Evelyn was soon rejoined by Cassandra and Varric who stated no mages survived the fight.

It would have to do, and Evelyn holstered her shield to her back, her sword readily sitting in her right hand.

“Interrogate these Templars, Cassandra, tell me what they know about the bands of mages and Templars surfacing over the Hinterlands.” Evelyn had made note of Seeker Cassandra’s excellent technique in gaining information first hand, and had requested she’d use it if needed here.

Cassandra nodded in agreement, and set to work as Varric and Solas oversaw the last Templar laying for himself.

 

As the fighting had settled, the people of the village had emerged from their hiding spots, tentatively coming into the center again. Evelyn ordered the soldiers to take provisions from the encampments and bring them into the village for their relief. They saluted her with pride, and proclaimed the village as under the protection of the Inquisition.

Evelyn then made her way to a close by sick-camp, where Mother Gisselle tended to wounded, as the stout dwarf Scout Harding had reported. Sure enough, the slender figure of a Chantry cleric was found hovering over a wounded soldier. Evelyn hesitated in her approach to the Mother, and waited for her to leave the soldier in due time.

Soon, she made note of Evelyn, and the Herald greeted her presence with a bow and introduction. Her helmet came off soon after. An unwavering glance of the Mother came to Evelyn’s mark, and she nodded in acknowledgement, returning the greeting on her part.

Their discussion went on unhindered by any question the Mother was brooding on, and Evelyn learned of her next mission in Val Royeaux, the shining capital of Orlais.

Through the whole, mellow talk, Evelyn found herself endeared with the Mother’s pleasant company and encouragement. She imagined anyone could like a woman like Mother Gisselle, if they ever had the pleasure of meeting her.

It was agreed that she’d join the Inquisition’s cause, as soon as she could be relieved of her direly needed healing knowledge and blessing words in the Hinterlands.

It dawned on Evelyn how much a single kindred soul could do for so many lost. She could only agree from then on how important it was that she kept that image in her own case as well, no matter what emotions blocked her from thinking clearly.

Her thoughts drifted to Haven, and their valorous work in making grounds for all kinds of folk joining their cause on their own accord.

She shivered, a terrible feeling climbing up her abdomen and spine.

She needed to be that beacon.

 

She needed to show compassion and determination. Empathy and justice... She needed to let herself feel.

 

___

 

 

It was a grey, rainy day when the Hinterlands carriages returned to Haven; first supplies and materials that had been spared in the light of refugees streaming from the Herald’s success. Hurriedly had people helped unload and get the relief into shelter from the harsh wind that whipped the raindrops like needles at any poor soul still outside.

Following the first carriage, a few had been saved to bring looted treasures and usable tools to camp. It would help the encampments expand faster, as Evelyn had noted in her reports that came regularly throughout her two weeks in the Hinterlands.

After a few more supplies were unloaded into Haven, the Herald and her party arrived last, having secured the caravan from the rear on the return journey.

Evelyn was frozen to the bone, and she’d been handed a too big cape to wrap over her armour in protection. It was now soaked, and not helping anymore. Varric’s light-hearted banter had ceased somewhere between “It’s getting a bit cold, are we close to Haven?” and “Andraste’s knickers, the heavens must _hate_ us! Hand me a damned cloak!” To Cassandras endless amusement; those two were at each other’s necks at every word otherwise. It was a nice change despite the weather being a real pain.

Cassandra and Solas rode on ahead of the Herald and Varric’s carriage once Haven was sighted, and they brought the steeds in for some well-deserved rest in the stables, that were now also stock-full with horses with Master Dennet’s grand offering to the Inquisition – as the Herald had saved his priced buffalo and workers from hungry, hungry wolves. Simply aiding the greater good was not compelling enough, to Cassandra’s annoyance.

As their carriage finally arrived, Evelyn let the courier excuse himself into shelter, and Varric brought with him a few bags of personal pick-ups before taking off once the Herald excused him too. She didn’t let it discourage her, and she hauled the last luggage over her shoulder – a bold move, as she buckled slightly at the heavy weight – and made her way over the courtyard with the leading horse in one hand. She set it loose into the stables.

 She wasn’t incredibly strong, even as she’d trained the art of swordsmanship as a tranquil, she’d mostly relied on her swiftness and lithe build to meet blows, and pummel with her entire body – something that hurt a great deal in hindsight. Carrying a slightly-too-heavy supply box around didn’t prove anything but the fact that she wasn’t strong enough; not for her choice of weapon anyway. She made a mental note to wake up earlier to train.

Soon she’d made her way into Haven, and into the safe, _dry_ hall of the Chantry. She let the hefty box slide onto the stone floor; a loud crack resounding as it seemingly couldn’t bare its own weight slamming into such a resolute surface. She didn’t flinch, instead letting her tired legs have her slide down the wall right next to the gates that lead into the flurry of snow and icy rain. It wasn’t particularly late in the day, but as it was winter and the sky was clouded in dark, angry colours; it was quite dark already. It might as well have been a good time to sleep on any other day, but alas she still needed to get somewhere she could dry off and change out of her armour. Her teeth clattered even as she clenched her jaws to keep them pressed together.

She definitely didn’t like wintery rains, she decided.

Her head lolled back against the wall; her white hair sitting slicked against her wet temples. So cold. She really, _really_ didn’t like the cold.

Her eyes found the gently lit ceiling, as it flickered with the torch lights. She found herself ignoring the fact that she was sitting exhausted in the Chantry main hall, alone sure enough, but nonetheless right by the entrance. She really couldn’t… sleep here.

Evelyn let her eyes slowly close.

 

A creak echoed in the solemn hall, and Evelyn looked ahead, head still resting back against the wall. The war room had opened, and a dark figure obstructed the light that otherwise shone brightly from the room.

Not alone then.

 

___

 

 

The Herald sat dreadfully still against the far off wall, her legs crooked and leaning uncomfortably against a big box that sat next to her. His heart dropped for a moment, before her head slowly came up again, and rolling forward until it hung tired.

He strode across the hall with stress, calling for her carefully. She replied after a while, her voice but a hoarse whisper.

“Ah, Commander… Excuse my interruption.” He made out from between his loud steps and reverberating sound of his armour.

_This woman._

Her feeble figure shifted as he came closer, and she looked up at him with a weak smile. Placid, he thought. Why would she sit here?

“Here, my Lady, let me help.” He extended his leather clad hand to her, a wrinkle deepening already between concerned brows. She grasped for it unfocused, and he had to find her hand for her. Maker’s Breath. She’s absolutely soaked… and deadly cold.

The water dripped off of her armour, and he realized she glistened in the dim lights of hall. How hadn’t he seen how absolutely sopping she was? He sighed to himself, hesitantly grabbing at her upper arm with his other hand before gently hauling her onto her feet, which proved to not be a great plan as she staggered forward, discombobulated and light-headed in her exhausted state. He caught her over her shoulders, and held her straight before draping one arm over him and somewhat lifting her in her steps. She wasn’t as substantial as the armour gave an appearance of.

Her chilled temperature transferred into him, and he found himself hurried to get her into the much warmer war room. She murmured incoherently into his side, and he glanced at her tired visage as they moved.

As soon as they were inside, he gently guided her into the chair he’d been sitting in and backed off to asses her needs.

Unbearably cold, dripping wet, bruised on cheek and jaw, no change of clothes to speak of… Right.

He placed his hands at her pauldrons and looked at her face just comfortably close. He’d reacted to the shock of seeing her there, not knowing she’d returned from the Hinterlands, and he had barely had time to notice his hairs standing on end and his heart beat hastened. She had peculiar effect on him even from a distance; and now he was so close he could see how her eyes fluttered under her eyelids. It was… surprising he could will himself to come so close and be so calm.

She moved, trying to get snug on the chair.

“Hold still, my Lady. It will only be a moment.” He said softly, scanning across her cheeks and jaw. It was seemingly flat, perhaps only stubborn old bruises, nothing to tend to. Her skin was seedy; pale in comparison to the flush she’d usually sport. Her lips were cracked and had been dry; now wet skin pieces lay clammy against them. It only made the slightly reddish mark stand out so much more. His gaze only glanced to it, not wanting to linger on any unkind thoughts.

The poor soul had probably been traveling in the freezing rain since it started a few hours ago. His concerned visage alleviated as she rolled her head, leaning it against the edge of her silverite pauldron. She looked at peace, even though she was clearly ailed. The Commander sighed, cursing himself for being a curling “father” around the younger woman; he stepped back from her lax figure, and leaned onto the table’s edge, sitting in front of her. He brought his hand over the nape of his neck – another nervous compulsion of his – and decided he’d stalled long enough with sitting there and just… watching her.

Certainly there’d be a cleric lollygagging about in the Chantry, with nothing better to do than to tend to their Herald.

It didn’t take him long as he searched the lower levels swiftly. An older woman sat untroubled in a smaller chamber with a few seats and an altar of Andraste. He had called for her, and she’d accompanied him up to where the Herald still sat resting. Perhaps sleeping; it was hard to tell when she breathed so quietly.

The woman, called Liane, was quick to assess the Herald’s condition, just as he’d tried for himself; however she called it out to be a feverish sickness, as she wasn’t just wet from rain when they returned, but sweat was beading at her collar, just behind her armour. Of course, he hadn’t noticed, as he’d been far too disturbed that he’d wanted to look down her clothes: thus not done it. He scurried a bit further away as the cleric began to fiddle at the Herald’s armour.

Her white hair was drier then, messy over her face. It made her look young, especially as she slept, and her eyes sat closed; very young. He realized he didn’t actually know how young she truly was, he’d only guessed she was in her 20’s. Maybe he would have the reason to ask, one day.

The cleric stopped unstrapping the Herald’s pieces, slowly turning to look at the Commander. His eyes met hers, and his heart dropped.

“Ah, ehm- Hm, let me just-“He fumbled a bit, embarrassed that he hadn’t already cleared out of the room as she’d started undoing the Herald’s silvery shell. The cleric hid a smile, moving out of his way as he hustled to gather his reports and supplies from the war table. He cleared his tight throat, smoothing a hand over his blond curls.

“Commander, I would suggest the Herald gets her due rest for the coming day.” Cleric Liane added as he pawed the door open, about to exit. He glanced over at them, seeing the older woman dab the Herald’s face with the edge of her apron. He hummed an acknowledging sound, and made haste to his own study.

 

Ridiculous, he exclaimed in an imaginary scorning of himself. He paced around his quarter, hands knit tightly behind his back. _Maker, take me and never let me make a fool of myself because of her again._

She was a mystery; a puzzle he couldn’t solve just by staring at her, even if that was his only method so far. Her white head was otherworldly, and her eyes – blue, icy blue of he really thought about it – they pierced him, made the demoralizing aura she emanated so much worse. Maker, did he want to dislike her, make him avoid her so he couldn’t get distracted by the questions that flooded his brain; but he didn’t. She was strong, courageous, kind and excellent at everything that made the followers of the Inquisition call her their Herald. She was ascended from the Golden City for all they knew; and neither did he know any better.

Too good, could she be called that? Untouchable; a beauty cold and austere; a marble statue on a pillar of faith. Her Tranquil manners made her seem like she was born into glory, her head held high even in face of a crowd. That or she was a master at hiding in plain sight.

He squeezed his eyes shut, as his fingers massaged at the bridge of his nose. He was too invested in her, no doubt.

His eyes tore from his bed, and he looked at the paperwork sitting haphazardly on his desk.

_Commander Cullen, do your job._

 

___

 

 

The morning following her return, Evelyn found herself neatly tucked under her sheets, a moist cloth lying on her forehead. She was cold, shivering as soon as a small breath of wind licked against her neck. Looking down, she raised the sheet just enough to see she was fully clothed and then some. A fuzzy animal skin was stuffed around her feet and another wrapped around her waist. She sighed unhindered, and slowly crawled into a ball, hoisting the sheets up from under her heels so she could bring it to her chin and protect her neck. Her skin hurt; it was so sensitive to everything. It felt like it should tickle, like she should laugh but it only made her squirm and tremble. A fever had taken her after her arrival in Haven, and she lay now sickly and frail in her chambers.

The fireplace was lit even as it was day, and she appreciated the warmth it radiated toward her bed.

Her eyes felt sticky, and she moved her slender digits to wipe at them, still holding the sheet rigidly; her skin was damp under the touch and she shivered some more.

She had been sick as a tranquil, but it hadn’t been nearly as bad a feeling as it was now. She’d been calm, more or less still studying and doing work even if she was cold and sweating. Now she could barely move a muscle without wanting to shudder back to her protective human ball. Humans are terribly fragile.

The door opened and closed swiftly, but Evelyn whimpered as the gust of frigid winter wind kissed her temples. She looked down through her lashes, following the intruding person as they moved over to her bedside. Evelyn blinked to clear her blurry vision, doubtlessly from her sweaty shape.

It was a cleric, and elderly woman. She knew that face, she told herself, and searched for a name.

“Liane.” Evelyn whispered, stirring under her sheets. The woman hushed her, bringing down the wet towel to rinse it in a small bowl of lukewarm water. Carefully Liane placed it across Evelyn’s forehead again and let her fingers trail down to her cheek, cupping it lovingly and giving her a modest smile. Evelyn relaxed into her touch, even if it was very chilly.

“No exertion today, Herald. You need and deserve to rest.” Evelyn closed her eyes, nodding into her pillow.

“Even the greatest need a helping hand, my Lady. Do not fret to be aided.” Evelyn watched Liane again; surprised she’d noticed any kind of uneasiness with being so invalid in bed.

“Hm…” Evelyn mewled. The perceptive woman brushed a few strands of starlight hairs out of Evelyn’s face, and gave an affectionate simper before moving to exit again.

Their encounters were brief throughout the day, but Evelyn could never express her gratitude for Liane’s small gestures of feeling her temperature and untangling her hair.

 

It was an uneventful day, and Evelyn spent most of it dreaming feverish dreams; convoluted nightmares and dreams. She still wasn’t used to visioning things in her sleep, and often found herself scared and anxious of her whereabouts once awake, believing it had been very real.

A few other people entered her abode, asking her of her well-being. Mostly cleric that came instead of Liane, and tended to her needs before she could gravelly wish for something. She was unused to the tender treatment, and would have been marvelously awkward; had she been more able to function normally and react.

Seeker Cassandra, as well as Spymaster Leliana had visited her, spoken of a few matters that surrounded a council she obviously couldn’t attend – or rather wasn’t allowed to by the inner circle. Cassandra had been very distracted with the reports, and very clumsy with trying to care for the Herald’s being; not that she didn’t, but she was rough around the edges in showing it. Evelyn didn’t mind it the least and greatly appreciated her companion’s company. Leliana had been very committed to trying to decipher a puzzle she’d brought for Evelyn originally, but as she hadn’t been able to keep at it for very long Leliana eagerly accepted to finish it for her. It had brought a smile to Evelyn, as the Spymaster was very comfy in being a bit childish when she had no work to perform in particular. Evelyn took due note.

Varric had brought along a short story he’d started about a Templar boy who was too far away from a Chantry to begin training. It was a comedic tale, and Evelyn found herself chuckling and coughing interchangeably at the jokes. Varric was very easy-going and barely seemed to notice Evelyn was sick at all – she found that she enjoyed that about him, she wanted to be as content in any situation as him but she knew she’d be terrible company if any of them were sick in her stead. Solas was quick in his visit, and brought along instead some news from the Hinterlands and how the village they’d visited first was fairing. It seemed to be going well with the relief efforts from the Inquisition. They were rebuilding a few old houses, and another few in planning. They had taken in some refugees from the wilds and together with the stationed scouts; they brought in their own foods and materials beyond the Inquisition’s aid. It made Evelyn happy to hear, and she thanked Solas, hoping he wouldn’t regret coming to visit her; as assessed by the brevity of the company.

The day was coming to a close and Evelyn was feeling quite well after getting some rest and enjoyable company through-out her sickly time.

She needed it, she realized. She had been very much under-the-weather as she thought of how weak she felt, and how easily she’d become sick – and from the first journey she had made no less. It made her feel very little and helpless, and it was something she abhorred.

Helplessness was the sign of a child; no control, no restrain, no way to help the self and not depend on others constantly.

Her childhood had been filled with short moments of happiness and long periods of hardship due to her magical affinity in a noble family; an abomination, only because her parents didn’t know any better.

Her companions here were not parents, she thought, and rolled over her side to face the wall. They were her peers, her kin. She belonged because they let her.

A new home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn starts to question what she is.  
> Herald of Andraste and divine saviour or Evelyn Trevelyan, a former tranquil mage with problems of her own.
> 
> Does she let her emotions rule freely, let her live the life she was intended to live, or does she restrain it for the greater good?  
> However she feels, the Commander is not helping her case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shitty angsty UGH
> 
> But a little fluffy silly moments here and there.
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you enjoy this installment as well!

The few days following Evelyn’s feverish experience, she spent time aiding Haven as it expanded in pace with refugees and agents joining the Inquisition. She wanted to show herself for the followers of the cause, be a part of their routines and know her people.

It had started with promenading the encampments. It was a large space with cut down tree stumps jutting out of the landscape; as it was once a forest. A few inhabitants of the camps noticed her, and started exiting their temporary homes as to see her fully. Children played among the many tents that were set up, but always avoided crossing her path. Her hands sat neatly knit together behind her back as she strode.

She looked out over the fields that expanded behind Haven; filled with fragile hopes and dreams lost in the process of becoming refugees. She felt sorrow as she saw a few of the troubles that ailed them. Family members lost and the remaining mourning by the make-shift altar for the camps. Washed up workers that had no way to support themselves; either by their craft being desolated or their homes. Children with no parents, spending their time with whatever cleric were there during the day to have lessons with them. Among the refugees were many young women and men with no purpose in life – stranded in a refugee camp because they couldn’t fend for themselves. Elders sat silent in their tents; praying, mourning and looking like they were contemplating whether life was worth living still.

It broke her heart, and she tried her best to become a part of what gave them hope. She spoke with the families, giving her sympathies and trying her best at expressing the feelings that ached in her chest. She asked the lonely and able people to pick up work for the Inquisition; find distraction and purpose in helping others. She listened to the clerics teaching the children about history and religion. She sat with the elders, told them of the people in all of the other tents, explained that perhaps they could find peace in sharing their experiences with others; giving the knowledge of their lives onto the next. Evelyn did many things, but she never felt that it was enough.

There was too much sorrow that she couldn’t patch up with merely her presence.

Her time with the people of the Inquisition gave her insight to the urgency of closing the Breach permanently.

But it was not _all_ for observing and being their Herald of Andraste; she found herself often enjoying the small things the refugees did for themselves and each other as well. It meant not everything in Thedas rested upon _her_ shoulders.

 

One night there was a gathering at the “town-square”, as they called it. It was a clear glade in the slight center of the camps, and many joined as it began in the dusk of a winter evening. Snow was cleared from the ground and everyone who came spread out cloth for seats. The whole ordeal was organized by the Haven Chantry, and Mother Gisselle was present.

It started with a speech on Mother Gisselle’s part. It was moving. She spoke with such forceful, yet genteel voice, and it captured everyone attending’s attention. Evelyn was glad she’d stayed to join the event. Soon after Mother Gisselle, a group of clerics and sisters came around to pass out simple bread and water from a great cauldron – hauled by a carriage, naturally. Evelyn declined eating the food; not wanting to take anything that could go to someone in greater need.

It was only logical.

But as two children urged her to not sit empty stomached – offering their own bread to her - she caved to her emotions and took half of the bread the clerics had offered. The children were happy to see their “heroine” share their food, almost like they’d just made her dinner themselves. Their father had been mortified to see them bother the Herald, but was lovingly concerned when they told him what they’d actually done.

Emotions were tricky, and very clever; cleverer than her it seemed. They made her do irrational things that spread pleasant sentiment to all those agreeing with her.

Perhaps they weren’t so bad, Evelyn thought as she nodded at the little family.

The father looked weary, but he wasn’t quite as chagrin when the Herald appeared thankful for the gesture. He quietly praised his children, and looked relieved at Evelyn; even if he couldn’t actually gaze at her for too long. She wasn’t used to it still; being among people and trying to be normal. It was even harder for her since she was meant to be so incredibly _special_ and _blessed_.

The abnormality of her symbol sitting among them was enough to make many frightened. She could tell from their distance to her.

The clerics noticed the unease and requested that the Herald herself come up to speak.

Now it was Evelyn’s turn to be mortified. She could speak privately with a few willing to listen; to help them… but speaking to so many; so many expectations… Unsettling didn’t quite describe it – perhaps she didn’t know any word yet to explain the feeling that made her breath shallow and her stomach churn.

No matter, she performed her own miracle and stood tall, walking into the middle of the gathering; which was when she also saw the other hundred-or-so pairs of eyes looking at her from further behind she had been able to see whilst sitting down. She fidgeted with her leather gloves behind her back. She looked to Mother Gisselle that stood in the slight shadows; where the fireplace in the middle couldn’t quite cast light on her chocolate skin.

Kindred spirit, she reminded herself and took a deep breath. The mother smiled at her.

“People of Haven.” Her voice was stark, which surprised even her. The people leaned forward.

“I know of the trials and tribulations you face here – as the Breach has laid waste to many. I know of what you fear, and how demoralizing it is.” She continued, pacing around the fireplace slowly. Her heart pounded mercilessly and her cheeks were burning.

“I only wish you also knew of the light to come after the storm. I look to that dawn, where I banish that tear in our sky and we can live again,” Many sat hugging each other, some very affected by her voice and hid their faces in their clothes. Some seemed happy.

“I… I am your Herald, good people, but I wish you also knew that I have a name – just like you.” She gestured to her heart. She wasn’t quite sure where all the words were coming from, she was too self-conscious of all the stress that was roiling her blood.

“My name is Evelyn Trevelyan. One day I hope my name can soothe your ails.” Some gasped, but the silence was palpable; only Evelyn’s voice carrying across the darkness.

“Remember that I am you. I am people; a person. Know that I am here to help. Know that I can be spoken to. Come to me with your troubles – let me help you as Evelyn.” She continued, bending over slightly to look at an elderly woman. She sat teary eyed, and smiled a beautiful gleaming grin when Evelyn gazed at her.

“I may be your Herald, but I am not higher than you.”

Evelyn came around the fire, and saw the little family again. The father was biting back emotions, and his children sat in wonder. This was what she was meant for.

“Remember: we share bread, and we share water.”

She hesitated for a moment, but swallowed down a painful lump.

“May the Maker watch over us all.”

 

She stood very still.

No words were left in her; she had no idea of what to say.

But suddenly the same elderly woman she’d met eyes with before stood, her chest heaving in some kind of restrain. Evelyn looked at her again. The Herald was praying for any kind of distraction at that moment, and her eyes glistened with the pain that was her heart beating so harshly.

The woman covered her chest with a spindly arm, and came down to kneel. The clerics stepped next to her, finding place between groups of people in the snow, and knelt before Evelyn. And it spread.

Like a wave, the earth resounded with the moving of so many; with their gesture to their Herald. Evelyn bit her quivering lip and grasped her sword hilt like it meant her life. Did she really inspire hope in them?

It was silent as they praised her in their stance, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Evelyn was soaring and she was no longer able to steady her breaths. _This wasn’t what people were supposed to do, she thought. This wasn’t what normal people do… And so she must do it._

She had stepped into their ranks, and they parted for her, coming up into standing again. A path was made for her to go, and Evelyn felt compelled to try and meet their eyes. Some were stained with tears, some hopeful and lively, and many still nervous to look at her. She wasn’t much better herself, and often looked down to their feet after only a moment, like she was nodding to acknowledge them. They seemed to appreciate it and returned the deed.

Once she was walking alone between tents, a few more came out to see her leave.

 

The gathering had dispersed after some light-hearted banter had broken out, and a session of prayers had been said by the clerics for the people. The Herald’s appearance had inspired many to join their neighbors and socialize in a way they hadn’t really done before. The news came to Evelyn only hours later, and it had been reported many whispered prayers for their Herald, _and to their Herald._

It helped Evelyn relax once she could actually lie down in her bed; eyes red from tears and lips swollen from her insistent wiping under her nose. Emotions would be the end of her. Could people die from feeling? She would have to inquire Mother Gisselle in the morning. If it was possible, then Evelyn was in dire need of medical attention.

Her armour was scattered in her quarters, and her hair tussled from her fingers raking it in desperation to stop feeling – to stop crying her heart out at the rush that came from speaking for the people. But maybe it was good in a way. She would never have been able to fall asleep if she hadn’t exhausted herself somehow.

 _To be_ _so devoted_ … She wasn’t sure if she loved it or hated it. It forced her hand, made her do things she would’ve hid from in a heartbeat otherwise. It was solely her conviction of it being necessary. She needed to be a symbol. Perhaps she could never be Evelyn Trevelyan – even if she so pleaded for them to see her as it.

Her body was a puppet of the Maker’s divine will. That she knew she loathed. She wasn’t _her_ still, even with emotions returned. They were still demanded to be hidden for the greater good.

But could she be Evelyn, like she’d wanted to be while she spoke so inspiringly to them? Or would she always have to be the Herald. The thoughts made her chest heave in discomfort. She needed sleep.

Soon the darkness claimed her and she slept without dreaming that night.

 

 

___

 

 

The meeting was scheduled for the early morning two days later, and Evelyn had requested that she’d be woken in due time to get ready for it.

The day that sat in-between was spent dealing out schedules and reporting, as well as planning more extensions on Haven for the people. It was the least she could do as she just couldn’t bare entering the camp so soon. The inner circle was pleased to have her thoughts on the matters they presented, and Evelyn was glad to give them. She spent some time with her journey companions by a fire as the day came to an end, and she knew she’d be honoured to have them along for the next endeavour.

So as she slept after just “another” day, awaiting the council so she could discuss travelling to Val Royeaux as soon as possible, she was content in her dreams. It was a rare enough occurrence that she actually remembered them when she woke the second day.

The elf maid that had been so terribly scared on her first awakening in Haven; had been pleased to instead wake her intentionally this time. Evelyn spoke with her in broken Elvish – as she’d been required to study it for the Circle – and the maid seemed grateful for her efforts to ease up any tension.

Sunlight was radiating from the windows, and it cast a bright beam across Evelyn’s collar, down one side of her face. It was silent outside due to how early it was, around four if the maid had been correct. A flock of swallows chirped just outside, and foretold of the spring that was slow to arrive. The day seemed hopeful with few scatterings of clouds across it.

Dust danced mellow across her room and Evelyn was lax; still tired from her late ordeal of crying. The elven woman was kind enough to not bluntly state how absolutely torn she looked.

Evelyn had asked for the woman’s name; to which she’d been hesitant to reply but revealed it was “Mayna”.  Evelyn had commented on the beauty of it and successfully made the little she-elf blush and stutter.

Mayna brought along Evelyn’s white cloth tunic as the first piece in her dressing up. Evelyn was unhappy to be served as some kind of queen, but did not want Mayna to feel out of place in her work – as Evelyn had to force herself to think of all that ‘served’ her – and as such she let Mayna be the one to button the tunic down her back, and tie it across her waist. The little woman soon realized she didn’t actually have the Herald’s leather vest next and had rushed to get it from the blacksmith as it was being repaired from the ruffian of a Herald that wore it.

Evelyn sat quiet in her chamber, and decided to search the bookshelves while she waited. Patiently, of course, as that was something she’d retained from years of never feeling stress or rush as a tranquil.

The books were both old and new, and she picked at one that read “The History of the Order” – unsurprisingly enough about old Templar customs and notable events. She realized she knew most of it, but was still intrigued by the complex routines that were explained in the book.

But she was interrupted by a knock on the door. Evelyn held the book open in her hands as she watched the wooden entrance. A lopsided smile grew on her lips as she thought of how dedicated Mayna was to serving her proficiently – it had barely passed three minutes since she’d left.

“You do not need to knock, enter please!” She called, delighted at how careful Mayna always was when dealing with her.

 

The door creaked open, and Evelyn walked across her room reading absently. The small hairs on her naked legs stood on end as the wind swept over them.

“You are very fast, Mayna, you really do not need to rush for-“Evelyn looked up at the entrance as she spoke.

A broad figure stood in the doorway, one hand still holding the doorknob. The Commander was frozen dreadfully still with his eyes fixated on her.

Evelyn shrieked and jumped behind the wall that separated her chamber and the hallway with the door. The book she held fell to the floor with a hefty thud.

_What in Andraste’s name?!_

“Commander?!” She called in utter confusion, pawing at her tunic to keep it down even if he couldn’t see her anymore. _Oh, please tell her he hadn’t seen her in nothing but smalls and her cloth tunic._

“Ah! I- Uhm- Please, forgive me I thought- I thought that- _Oh, Maker.”_ The door shut with a loud bang, and the sound of metal scrambling away from it told her he’d moved.

She let a breath go, and her widened eyes peeked around the corner of the wall. Yes, closed. Her heart beat was hammering loudly in her ears and she was blushing furiously. Her taloned fingers let go of the tunic and she couldn’t help but cross her arms across her chest as she tiptoed up to the window that faced the Chantry. She hid slightly by the drapes, but saw him there.

He was striding hurriedly toward the large building, one hand gripping the nape of his neck and the other flinging in exaggerated gesticulation. He seemed to be talking to himself as he scurried away from her quarters. She swore she could see a bit of red hinting at his neck and ears.

Evelyn spun away from the window, taking deep breaths as her cheeks were covered with her colder fingers. Soothing, but not helpful in subduing the immaculate embarrassment she’d just suffered. The Herald of Andraste pacing her chambers in nothing but _knickers and a shirt._

_Void-take-her, it was **the Commander.**_

She groaned painfully as her expression was twisted in a regretful arch. Why did she need to feel so much? Oh, her image must be shattered to him; nothing but a girl with the misfortune to have an ancient power ingrained in her being. How could he look at her at the war table now?

She was humming in stress as she sat down on her bed. Just the day before he’d been so tense around her, so careful to not over step his words in front of her as he summarized reports to her in his study. He often acted like she was some kind of saint that couldn’t function outside of inspiring hardship and discussing “the greater good”. It bothered her sometimes, because once she was more familiar with _feeling_ she was actually ready to try and socialize – to speak freely with her people. Varric had already helped her a great deal with his carefree self.

This was a step in a very wrong direction.

Soon enough it was actually Mayna that came by and they clad Evelyn in the rest of her gear in silence. Mayna was suspicious as to why, but Evelyn avoided her quizzical looks and pursing of lips. Evelyn knew the elf would be too respectful of the Herald to dare ask.

It was unfair, but she really didn’t want to spill what little composure she’d assembled in the face of the meeting.

Mayna had left the Herald in her chambers then, and Evelyn holstered her weapons onto her bodice and waist. She felt a bit less exposed now, as little of her figure showed through the armour.

She forced air into her lungs before exiting and finding Haven a bit more awake. A few merchants and workers were walking across the yard, on their way to prepare for a new day. Evelyn marched to the Chantry in feign confidence as to both fool anyone seeing her, and fooling herself. She had to be the Herald now.

The war room’s door stood open for her, and she stopped in her walk once she entered the Chantry. Only did she snap back into herself once the great gate behind her closed. The sound was mighty and she had to move as to not be seen standing around like a lost fennec kit.

The great rosy windows of the Chantry coloured her with the light and she felt like she needed to breathe in the pace that they flowed across her. Voices could be heard from the room.

The Seeker, Spymaster, Ambassador… the Commander. All present.

 

_Andraste preserve me._

Evelyn entered the well-furnished room, and all eyes fell on her. They greeted her, even as far as earning a low greeting from the Commander. She avoided his direct gaze.

She ran her index finger across the hilt as one hand rested on the pommel of her sword. She felt flustered, unnaturally bothered by the otherworldly event she suffered in the morning.

Cassandra and Leliana spoke of starting the council, and Evelyn merely nodded her agreement; her eyes fixed sharply on the map of Thedas.

It was going to be a long meeting.

 

 

Pleasantly enough, the Commander had been very steeled, only compulsively scratching his neck then and again and he was very professional about the whole… _thing_ ; seemingly not letting it faze their adjourning. She attempted the same and tried to assume the unwavering Herald of Andraste air.

It was agreed Evelyn would travel to Val Royeaux along with Cassandra and her other companions; even if the Commander had been clear with how dangerous it could be for them in the midst of the center of the Andrastian Chantry. Evelyn had made note of his concern, but let it not bias her decision to travel as soon as possible.

As the meeting was dismissed, Leliana gave Evelyn a few glances from under her hood, and the Commander strayed in the room before leaving as well.

Haven was fully awake once they exited the Chantry, and Evelyn was quick in collecting Varric and Solas from their usual spots. Cassandra was off into the stables, preparing mounts for the journey.

To Evelyn’s great misfortune, the Commander had addressed her in the courtyard, and they had walked into the training grounds yet again. She was incredibly distressed from his presence now; no longer his Templar thrumming being the only thing to make her clench her jaw.

His eyes were unfocused and roamed everywhere but her until she finally spoke first; wanting for him to simply say his spill before she burst into flame.

“Commander, you- What was it that you wanted?” her voice was harsh, trying to shut him out so she could stop being so infuriatingly childish about the incident.

“Of course. Right. I wanted to apologize for… Stepping in unannounced.” His tone was unusual, flowing with an uncertainty she didn’t know him for. He was the man with the constant frown, as Varric had put it.

“It was indeed a surprise.” She said at length, her eyes constantly averting from his gaze that now was on her.

“I assure you, I did not see- I mean I saw but I didn’t look closely or- You know I was quite shocked and… _Maker’s Breath_.” He breathed in exasperation, as a vermilion colour crept up his neck. Her cheeks flushed as well at his confession – so he had actually seen that it was… only tunic and smallclothes. _Ugh_ , she despised the feeling that settled in her stomach. Butterflies, she hissed in her thoughts. She shouldn’t be feeling butterflies at all; it is terrible that he saw her.

“I am a fool, and I only wish to apologize. I will not be affected by any slip-ups on my part.” He continued, trying again to sound himself; and failing somewhat.

She glanced up at him, an amused smirk pursing her corners.

“I understand, Commander. Do not worry about me. I have not felt embarrassment before but I understand it’s a very unpleasant feeling. I do not wish to embarrass you in such case.” She brushed some stray hairs behind her ear, looking at the trainees ahead.

His expression hardened for a moment, but he nodded and turned his face away. It seemed to be smiling anyway.

“Thank you, my Lady, then do not let me stall you. I’m sure Lady Cassandra is impatiently waiting for you by your carriage.”

She chuckled; glad to hear him light-heartened for once.

“I do not doubt it. Fare well, Commander. I will return with good news.”

He nodded again.

“Fare well, Herald.”

 

As she strode toward the carriage - and surely did Cassandra stand there, tapping a foot – Evelyn thought about herself. She wasn’t sure what she felt at that moment. She was a bit in-between her coin’s sides again. It scared her to think it was a pleasant feeling she’d felt. It scared her to think she’d maybe like him being like that always; fumbling and way out of his comfort zone. It was interesting, and it made _her_ feel special in a way that wasn’t holy forced upon her, but more bloomed on its own. A frown burrowed between her brows.

Disturbed by the thought of having to always feel. She needed distance for now, and she needed to clear her head. She was the Herald of Andraste, she reminded herself for the thousandth time, gripping her sword rigidly. Andraste didn’t mingle with mortals, she sat high in the heavens and looked down, giving guidance and hope; not making poor men flustered in a state of undress.

What would she think of Evelyn if she couldn’t bare the weight of being Andraste’s chosen, as the people claimed her to be? She was above it all in their minds. They expected her to be… But maybe she didn’t need to be…

As they rode toward Val Royeaux, she sat alone at the edge of the carriage, holding her temples in a rough grip. She was torn, and it made her want to hide and never speak with anyone again.

As her thoughts drifted away from their confusing conversation, Evelyn thought about what the Commander actually was. And was she actually was.

He was a Templar – a force of lyrium and chaste education. He could easily dispatch her or any weak-minded magical being. She was a mage, and she’d have to come to terms with it sooner or later; even if she had thought to repress it always. It wasn’t because she was the Herald that he made her want to curl into a protective ball – and force some kind of barrier between them – it was because she _was a mage_.

_You are a mage, Evelyn. You’re an abomination. The Templars will strike you down at first chance, Evelyn. It’s for the best this way. You are unstable, Evelyn._

The words echoed in her head, and it felt familiar. Perhaps they were the part of her that made her fear what she was again.

Her fingers were closed around her sword the entire journey.

The sword was her weapon, the shield was her barrier. Not magic. It could not be magic.

She couldn’t _like_ making him smile like that. She needed to be controlled, in his mind. To him she was a tranquil, a mage, the Herald, not Evelyn. And when he actually thought she was a person, it made him insecure, she thought. He wouldn’t have acted like that if he didn’t think she’d be embarrassed or bothered by his intrusion. Indeed, she wouldn’t have if she was still tranquil – and by the Maker did she wish it sometimes.

_He thought you were a person. Hm…_

No. Stop.

Evelyn groaned to herself, folding into her lap. Curse the mark and all that it made her again. Evelyn Trevelyan wasn’t the Herald – she was an uncertain and unstable mage wardling.

 

She had only been with the Inquisition for a month, and she’d already learned so much of how to act, but now she wished she didn’t.

 

 

___

 

During the visit to Val Royeaux, it was reported that Templars were patrolling the streets in wait for the Herald’s party. Evelyn had felt a distrust by then already, and come to many conclusions about her purpose in the Inquisition.

She’d spoken with the scout, telling her to report home to Haven as soon as possible, and that Evelyn would deal with any danger present. Her unusually harsh demeanour had spooked Varric, and he looked at her carefully from behind. She strode fast into the great shining plaza of the capital. A giant formation of lions and various decorations stood in the middle, and the buildings surrounding it were splendorous. It was delicate and flowy designs that mastered the architecture; an abstract feeling to the jutted corners and extravagant appendages of the citizens; even as they gave her fearful looks.

Evelyn ignored them with great success, and had entered the crowd that formed in front of a scene with clerics as the speakers.

As soon as she’d been in ear’s shot, the poisonous words that the clerics spewed set her nerves on fire. Anger was useful, she thought, as she twisted and passed by the audience.

Once spotted, the cleric immediately addressed her presence as a bad omen; a sign of the bad nature of the Inquisition. She claimed that Evelyn was only there to cause disorder and chaos.

Evelyn had shouted involuntarily at her, forcefully telling her to step down from her accusations and try to see some reason.

The elderly cleric had refused Evelyn’s barking orders, and introduced the Templars that were said to guard the city. Evelyn might’ve been alarmed at their entrance to the scene, but as they attacked the cleric, and passed out harsh words of leaving the Chantry, Evelyn was only shocked.

“What is the meaning of this?!” She had exclaimed, ready to draw her sword at their offense. The Lord-Seeker, as Cassandra had called him, was utterly out of reason and did not react to her tense body. He only commented absently on Evelyn’s tranquil mark, and insulted her dearly as being inept for combat. Just then had both Varric and Solas hindered any advance Evelyn had wanted to do toward the Lord-Seeker; and she wanted to sink her blade into his chest.

The encounter was over as soon as they’d ignored her attempts at recruiting them into the Inquisition – pleading that their cause could be combined into greater accomplishments against a common enemy.

Evelyn was only just cooling down when she spoke with Cassandra, and they summarized the odd behavior of the Lord-Seeker she knew so well. Cassandra was distressed by him, and agreed that he could not be reasoned with like so.

On their way to exit Val Royeaux, a mysterious note was shot to the ground just in front of them. A simple arrow was the messenger, and they found no sign of the archer. It had spoken of a meeting place with a Red Jenny representative; talking of troubles that would ail the Inquisition of they did not meet the representative. Evelyn had not been in the mood, and it only soured further as they met with the Grand-Enchanter Fiona; she acted oddly calm about the whole ordeal of walking freely in Val Royeaux and approaching the Herald’s party in shadows. Everything about the journey to the capital of Orlais seemed out of place, and nothing helped Evelyn as she debated herself over being human again – or needing to not be to serve the Inquisition to the fullest.

As the representative – Sera, a funny “people’s elf” – had been allowed to join the Inquisition despite her odd introduction, Evelyn forced herself to sit through Sera’s banter on the journey home. It was a distraction even if she didn’t let herself be caught in the flow of it. She needed to think a bit more – unbiased by the emotions of being just Evelyn.

 

The return to Haven was uneventful, except for a few hushed concerns whispered to her from her companions. Even Solas found time to express a worry over her sudden change of nature. She’d tried assuring them she was only tired from working in the refugee camps, and had hoped to get to rest for the remainder of the day once they arrived in Haven.

They had respected her wishes, and she hurriedly retired into her quarters, only to sink down in defeat onto her bed.

 _To be Evelyn, or to be their Herald_ ; to allow herself to live her life as it had been intended or to repress it… Did all people face such tasks? Finding where they belong and choosing a path? She wondered as she idly looked out her window at Haven and its hardworking people.

She had to be one or the other, right? The “in-between” was already where she was, and it hurt her more than she showed.

It made her doubt her ability to protect close ones, it made her rethink any action to lend aid to those in need. The in-between was a scary limbo for her, and she wasn’t sure the Inquisition would bend with her.

She groaned into her bed, and pulled at her hair. Who was she, truly? Maybe someone could tell _her_ instead, and then she wouldn’t need to find herself.

Evelyn cursed her helplessness and decided she wouldn’t mope around in bed, clad in dirty armour and whine. To be strong was something she could be in either case.

 

Her grime caked armour was soon unclad and hung onto the mannequin she had placed by her desk. She untied her hair, and found herself sinking into a lukewarm bath. Once relaxed, she had absently started to scrub at her dusty skin.

Mayna had come by sometime during her unclothing, but Evelyn had ordered her off, insisting she could do it herself as she’d done it on her own before she was a part of the Inquisition.

 

Evelyn tiredly inspected her arms as they lay on the bathtub edges; thin and measly. Her feet were battered and swollen; her hands reddish from the itch in her gloves. She didn’t know how her back looked, but it must’ve been calloused from scar tissues; beatings from childhood.

She looked down on her chest. She didn’t remember becoming adult, because it had never interfered with her work as a tranquil; thus it was unimportant… but as she saw her own body, and thought of how lanky it had once been as a teenaged ward, she sighed. Many things accompanied being adult; how she looked, how she needed to act and how she needed to decide… How she needed to find comfort in someone still.

She closed her eyes, and sunk under the surface. The water was roiled with her dirt, but she didn’t stay under for longer than being able to rinse her hair quickly and chill her thoughts. She didn’t like how it drifted to _being with someone_. As she came up, she slicked her hair back over her scalp. Once standing, she looked down at herself again. _You are not pretty, Evelyn, stop stalling._

She sighed in exhaustion; she was tired of feeling both happy and angry all whilst thinking of one single thing, and she willed herself to move on from the bath.

 

The towel was stale where it lay on her bed, but softened as she wet it. She wrapped it over her torso, and let her thoughts disperse. She instead let the complicated work of untangling her hair take over. She realized she had no idea how to care for herself like this.

Evelyn grabbed the daunting horse bristle comb and started pulling at the ends of her white mane. It pulled at her scalp, and she wrinkled her nose at the twinge. Why did people brush their hair – it was barely worth having smooth hair if she’d need to do this. Evelyn tried to remember Mayna’s technique of grabbing the piece of hair she was brushing, and soon it didn’t hurt if she held it hard enough. She marveled at how it worked from then on.

Once her hair was brushed out fully, it was actually quite dry, and she was able to tie it on her head like she usually had it – a high tail. It occurred to her that she didn’t have anything to reflect her image – no mirror to be found in her quarters. Why would she need one? She wasn’t vain… She shouldn’t be. She ignored the nervous thoughts about her white hair, and started bandaging her chest and putting on her smallclothes.

Then it knocked on the door.

Evelyn snapped her attention to the door, staying very still for a moment. She couldn’t be sure.

“Who is it?” She called out, and paced towards the wall she’d hid behind before.

“Excuse me, Herald, it’s me.” The voice was mumbled behind the thick wooden walls, but it was clear enough who it was.

The Commander; here again. Did he have a sixth sense so that he could tell when she was indecent for a visit? She would have scoffed at the idea any other day.

“Oh. Commander. What is it?” She continued in a raised voice, and stood fully behind her wall whilst letting her head peek around the corner at the entrance, lest he enter. A frustrated twinge ached in her head. _No, she did not like this… No, no, no…_

“Cassandra has requested a meeting in the war room within the half hour.” He said strongly, seemingly leaning onto the door to hear her as it creaked with his shift.

“I will be there then.” She replied, and looked to the floor awaiting his departure. _Please, leave._

No sound was made.

“Commander..?” She asked, and looked to the door again. A shuffling could be heard.

“Ah, sorry! Sorry. Am I… Disturbing something?” His voice raised into a silly quizzical tone. She let a slight chuckling breath leave her. He really did have a sixth sense.

“Yes, Commander, you are indeed.” She mused, letting no scorn be lost on her statement. He pushed off of the door then.

“I am so sorry, I’ll be on my way – Ehm, I’m very sorry... Half hour!” He called out the last part in haste before his steps left her chamber.

She shook her head, more for herself than anything. She hissed a cursed at the pleasant feeling that warmed her cheeks. It made her stomach churn and she dug her fingers into the wood of the wall. _Stop being weak and get yourself ready, you fool._

It didn’t take long once she could strap herself in, even without Mayna’s aid. With her weapons attached she made her way into the war room with no delay, and they all stood gathered in her tardiness. Would she always be last?

 

With her attendance they quickly assumed the council and started the substantial feat of closing the Breach. As their two candidates had been met with – Mages and Templars – it seemed both sides were equally as odd for options. All whilst the council bickered with the others whether one or the other would serve better, Evelyn was alone in her frozen stature.

Mages… Or Templars. Neither sounded good to her; neither did she trust. One was her own unstable kin – no matter how much she’d shiver at the thought – and the other was an order of “righteous” jailors. To go to the mages would need her accepting her legacy. They would feel her powers as soon as she’d step into their vicinity, and would they not be able to trust her as she couldn’t even let herself be a mage like she’d been born? As for the Templars, they’d mistrust her solely for the reason of being a mage, no matter her attempts at repressing it or becoming a sort of warrior with sword and shield. She tugged at her sword.

To choose between unwanted kin and unkinder protectors…

“Herald.” Cassandra called, and Evelyn snapped to her attention.

“What is your say in the matter?”

What was her say? She swallowed.

“Well, it’s a very convoluted ground, this.” She referred to the conflict between mages and Templars, and the eternal war that raged between them.

“To choose one is to cast the other aside. I’d wish I could be as diplomatic as possible.” Evelyn ran her fingers across the map. Josephine seemed pleased with her answer, even if she hadn’t concluded anything. All eyes stared at her form.

“…How long do I have to parlay my say in this matter?” Evelyn quirked, glancing up at Cassandra who stood with her arms crossed over her chest – not looking very happy.

“I am afraid we cannot wait much longer, Herald. The Breach is still in the sky, and it’s not going to stop affecting this world until we can do something about it.”

Not what Evelyn had hoped for. Her heart started beating faster in the discomfort she sank deeper into by the second.

Perhaps the Templars would see her side more. Perhaps they would see some strength in her choice to not use magic despite it being readily available… more or less. One armed crossed her chest, and the other poised on top of the other’s wrist. Her fingers felt the uneven skin of the mark on her forehead. It would be… a disadvantage either way. In the moment she wanted to scratch it out of her skin, but it would have no effect. Her fingers curled into a fist, and she let her arms down next to her. Her brow was furrowed in the frustration that made sweat bead on her collarbone.

She thought of the power that surged through her veins, the magic it was supposed to be. She knew it wouldn’t exactly combine very well with either’s power; as they’d tried to connect her magic in the past to some kind of ebb and flow training with mage tutors. Alas, it had not worked as she could not stabilize any kind of link with her own magic. It reacted with her, rose and fell with her breath and her strain. If the moment of her supposed triumph was dire, the livid flow of magic from other mages merged with her could be disastrous. She shifted at the thought; her lips were going dry from breathing out of her mouth.

She couldn’t risk the failure of the closing on her able to keep her magic flowing smoothly. She’d never done it before and she highly doubted it would be able to then in such a grim and stressed moment.

No, never would she… She couldn’t use magic.

“I do not believe the mages will be able to help me.” She stated assertively, meeting Leliana and Cassandra’s gazes. They gave her looks, but nodded at her decision.

“The Templars will have to prove their worth once we confront them. If they do not cooperate or show untrustworthy tendencies then I will have no choice but to go to the mages.” She continued no less powerful. The Commander nodded in agreement, and the council dropped their sour feud to discuss logistics and strategies for approaching the Templar order. Evelyn was distant in the talk, but tuned in whenever she could muster it.

 _Herald of Andraste, Herald of Andraste…_ She was unfocused on their voices again.

She realized she hadn’t gone to chant for many weeks.

She hadn’t done a lot of things she’d usually do as tranquil… And that scared her.

She was becoming more Evelyn each day, and she hadn’t even noticed. Her eyes glazed and she stared astray at the table.

That wouldn’t do, she hissed at herself. Her blood boiled in her heart, and she slowly moved her gaze to the Commander’s visage. He was busy arguing with Josephine and didn’t quite notice Evelyn’s inspection of him.

Emotions are fickle and unstable, just like that wicked magic mages wielded. Control was her virtue, she thought. Control gave her peace of mind and it kept her at bay in all ways. Physically and emotionally. That control was slipping from her grasp as long as she let herself spill her troubles onto others; she spread herself thin with each piece she shared.

The Commander was the worst.

The Commander made her think differently than her companions would do. He made her unable to question what was happening until she was alone with her thoughts again. He took that control from her whenever he smiled and whenever he seemed to see Evelyn inside of her, slipping out from the cracks in her marble walls that she put up to be able to cope with being Herald. The marble shone as long as she walked Haven, and someone could see her, but she slipped deep beneath the surface whenever she dreamt nightmares, or sat alone with only herself as company.

She thought about him then, careful not to meet his eyes. He didn’t know much about her other than what could be seen on her person, or what others could have told him – which wasn’t much she summarized. He most probably didn’t even know her full name. Her chest heaved in restrain. All the signals of her body were overwhelming, and she was sweating something awful under her armour. His Templar aura was clashing with her mage aura – his bold yet kind behavior – the shell he put up as a Commander and person, only sliding just like her own.

Sometimes one part of her wanted to slip under that shell of his and pry in his past, and sometimes that part of her also wanted her to slip, and let Evelyn show. That part of her had made her cry after her speech, it had made her want to make the followers call her Evelyn and not Herald. _That part_ made her want to make others smile and show their true colours for her. It made her want to spill her soul onto someone who could bare the pain and nightmares with her…. And that part of her made her think that the Commander… Cullen, could be that someone.

And the other side fought bravely against, made her hard and unreachable, made her anxious and distant to others. It made her hate him, and hate everyone that approached her with concerned eyes and soothing touches. It wasn’t a tranquil side; it was more a demon clawing at her conscious. Envy or otherwise, it made her want to shy away from everything.

 

Poor Evelyn was caught in the middle of herself.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald has to face herself being Evelyn on fulltime, but the pressing matter of meeting with the Templars and closing the Breach must come first.
> 
> Perhaps she realizes something in the process.

Leliana had been the first to approach her since the meeting and told Evelyn of the suspicious activities of the Grey Wardens. Their mysterious disappearance was an irking errand as soon as Evelyn heard it.

She’d always dreamt of becoming like the Hero of Ferelden – when she still dreamt as a child – and aspired to become _her._ Of course, it was a bit harder when she was younger, because the Hero was a brave knight with armour and swords, not a mage with insecurities. To now hear that this legendary order of Grey Wardens were evaporating, especially in light of recent events, made Evelyn incredibly keen on investigating. It was also an excuse to get out of Haven and smash some frustration into her enemies.

She didn’t particularly enjoy _killing_ but she understood the necessity and could admit to how good a stress relief it was to get to pool all of that angry strength into her sword and shield. Though sometimes…. That anger would escalate into her blood and cause her magic to fluster inside of her – it was choke worthy, and it felt like she was trying to escape her own skin each time it happened. Luckily she had gone without incident since she regained her fade-touch. But perhaps it was only a matter of time…

 

 

She found herself avoiding her companions during her time in Haven. Varric was specifically difficult on the matter and often tried to find excuses to get to talk to her. It didn’t exactly anger Evelyn, but it made it hard to try and repress the _bad influences_ of emotions.

Emotions got in the way. They dictate and rule. They make strange things happen to the body and sometimes very unpleasant things. She was not about to accept it interfering with her purpose in the Inquisition – she was not about to let _him_ do that.

The Commander had been on his own sort of guard as well; only really speaking to her when he needed to report personally. He strayed far away from her quarters; as if he got to close he’d be drawn to knock on the door. It was… strange, but it made things easier for Evelyn and her attempts at restraining herself. Somehow, it made her want to shrink into nothingness still; to try and stay away from things that didn’t _only_ create disorder and instability but also gave her happiness – like the good people around her. It hurt, she noticed, and at first only when she was alone; a little twinge of her heart, a shiver in her breath. Doubtlessly she wouldn’t be able to keep the odd symptoms for herself much longer…

She would travel the next day to seek out a lead on the disappearing wardens. She’d get a distraction then, she soothed herself as she sat on her bedside. The room felt humongous in the solitude, even if she was usually alone in her quarters. She sat hunched, legs meeting by the knees, as her hands absently fiddled with her nails. She was supposed to sleep, but it deemed difficult; it wasn’t as easy to ignore emotions when it was just her and her demons.

The night was dark and the sky was clouded letting no light from the stars, nor the moon, reach the ground. All that illuminated her world was a malformed candle on her bedside table. The orange light was short in range.

A painful weight sat in her stomach, and her breathing felt constrained. Curbed in her own self-loathing, she fought against the searing wetness in her eyes. To cry would be to fail. She had to be strong for all that believed in her – if not for herself. She squeezed her lids shut and forced a tear to fall before pressing her palms flat against her eyes. She ground them into the sockets before falling back onto her bed. She would not cry that night. Forced deep breaths exited her nose and she kept her jaw set. The next day she’d get to explore and to help.

Her arms fell defeated to her sides and she stayed wide awake until the light was snuffed out. She was numb, and could think of little but try to just stay calm and alive.

As soon as darkness was inevitable, she closed her eyes and crept under her sheets as to lie on her side; knees pulled tight to her torso.

She slept then but merely as it was compulsory.

 

 

 

The next day was started late in Evelyn’s case. It was Mayna that had braved to get the Herald awake before she slept the entirety of the day away. Evelyn was grateful but very slow to get anywhere once she was actually awake, and she repeatedly apologized to Mayna that she had to perform all of the tasks on her own. The elf woman was clear that it was to no trouble of hers, and that she would gladly do it every day if necessary.

Once she had been left alone again, now dressed and standing in the middle of her chambers, she felt a wave of tardiness wash her cold. She had no wish to go outside and try to be the Herald. Alas it was to no avail to be so slow because soon Cassandra came banging on her door, claiming they’d need to travel as soon as possible to keep the daylight for their journey. Evelyn had answered vaguely, but come out nonetheless – as to quell Cassandra’s fury and to kick-start herself.

Cassandra had given her a look – like she’d usually do – with her cheekbones ready to cut a man and eyes boring through Evelyn. She’d tried to shrug it off but she knew that part of the look was because Cassandra was tired of Evelyn’s avoiding act. It had taken no endless amount of willpower on Cassandra’s side, because she was rubbish with emotions herself as she’d admitted sometime during their missions in the Hinterlands, but she had had it with Evelyn’s unnaturally cold self – it was not what she’d come back as from the rift by the Breach. It wasn’t Evelyn.

They’d been quick to assemble for departure. Solas and Varric were already waiting by the carriage when the two women came around the corner of the training grounds. The Commander had not been present, and Evelyn internally sighed in consolation that she wouldn’t have to endure his glances.

Cassandra had mounted her horse and Evelyn had jumped onto the carriage next to Varric. They’d been off in silence.

 

The day felt endless, but they’d reached camp sooner than later. Evelyn had been quick to settle into her tent whilst her companions steadied themselves around the campfire that shone in the evening. The night was clear then. Evelyn had started a letter to Leliana that she’d conclude upon arrival at the supposed location of a stray Grey Warden. The other party-members spoke in pleasant tones to each other – even Cassandra mustered to chuckle in the banter. It was pleasant to listen to, Evelyn thought, and had distracted herself with their merry time. Once the fire was put out, and the tents resounded with the retirement of her companions, Evelyn held her breath in the silence.

A head popped into her tent, and Evelyn shifted with a start.

“Ah, who goes there?” She’d hissed through her teeth.

“It’s Cassandra.”

Evelyn let a breath go, and she threw her legs over the side of her cot; hands on either side of them. She was still fully clad in her amour and she ached a bit from laying so still in it.

“Walk with me, will you?” Cassandra asked calmly, holding the tent flap open for Evelyn to slowly get past. It was unfamiliar, but as long as she couldn’t quite tell of the Seeker’s expression she was unalarmed. They strode along the path they’d come from on their journey. Evelyn rested her hands on her sword hilt, and inspected the landscape in the darkness – lit solely by the moon and its star-children. It was beautiful but less majestic when the light could not colour it all. Cassandra sighed next to her, seemingly seeing the same view.

“You know, Herald, as a Seeker of Truth I cannot ignore lies – even the blatant lies others tell _themselves_.” She started, earning a treading glance from Evelyn.

“I cannot begin to fathom how strange the world must be for you now. To have your dreams and emotions returned so drastically and absolutely… I can only apologize if I’ve ever put you under great stress with my own inability to act mercifully.” She continued, watching Evelyn. Cassandra’s features were much more pronounced in the stark shadows and she looked like an artwork in the dark.

“No need, Cassandra. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” Evelyn replied with an accepting lilt.

“You lie, Herald.”

Evelyn snapped to Cassandra’s visage, cursing herself for reacting too violently and only confirming anything Cassandra was deducing – even though she’d most likely already made up her mind about the matter.

“I may not be the best to speak with of emotion and feeling, but I can tell. You’re rigid. Stiff and sober. You call none by their first name unless you speak with them alone. I am fairly sure you don’t even call the Commander by name then either.”

Evelyn’s heart was beating. It was like she’d been discovered playing with magic in her parent’s basement. She swallowed involuntarily and her grip tightened around the hilt.

“I did not know you before becoming tranquil, but I cannot imagine any person to be so numb even so. Only one who knows how it is to not feel – and how it is to feel too much could.”

“Cassandra,”

“No, you cannot do this.”  
Cassandra stopped in her tracks and looked at Evelyn head on; her face dark as the moonlight hit her back.

“Do not lie to yourself. You _are_ the Herald, no matter how you _feel_. You are nothing less just for loving life, for feeling emotions. You are human, no?”

Evelyn was endlessly tensed.

“I am your friend. We are all your friends; your allies. Let us help you. You do not need to carry this weight alone. Do you understand?” Cassandra took a hold of Evelyn’s shoulders as she spoke, as to rattle Evelyn to reality.

“I… Understand, Cassandra.” It started weak, but she finished it with force. She didn’t want this to go on.

A sour, sparkling feeling was flashing in her ribcage and she wanted to flinch away from Cassandra’s intensity. It wasn’t quite panic, but she did feel some fear tingling around her muscles – she absolutely hated fear.

Cassandra stepped back, nodding her head.

“I cannot assume to have changed anything for you. Just know that I am aware of your pain, and let me carry it with you; that much I can do.”

Evelyn was grateful, she really was, she just didn’t hear the small pleading voice in the screams of duty and strength and her own worthlessness.

“I will contemplate.”

And with that, Evelyn gave Cassandra a last glance over her shoulder before marching promptly back to the camp. She swiped the tent-flap out of her way before stilling inside her tent. Her knees were weak and mushy, and she let herself come down to the ground. A silent whimper threatened at her lips and she damned all of herself.

Pale and pathetic, beaten by the mere words of encouragement from Cassandra.

If she knew one thing by now was that you shouldn’t feel so sickly defeated in the face of… companionship and _love_.

Or perhaps she just didn’t know that then.

 

The journey after the Grey Wardens resulted in a gained companion – Blackwall, an honourable, hearty man with a fuzzy beard and tired eyes. Evelyn liked Blackwall. He was dignified and stood resolute like the mountain, didn’t waver in the face of any battle; like neither she should. She bitterly jested to herself that he was more the Herald than she was, but none could know she thought that, of course.

Together with their new ally they quickly scowered the Hinterlands and dispatched many troubles and sicknesses that plagued the land – rifts, bandits, apostates, rebel Templars and all of the like.

After a week, the slightly bigger party returned and dissipated into their own quarters upon return. Evelyn had not tried anything in the whole time away since Cassandra’s talk, and she was too exhausted to try anything once home.

Yeah, home.

 

She was capable of getting herself into her house, and onto a chair, before completely losing control over her body. She melted onto the wooden furniture, at least as far as her dented armour would allow. It was always damaged upon return, there was always something… And this time it was a hiccup in her right shoulder – a Templar morning star that had collided from the behind, knocking the pauldron edge into the breastplate and in return blooming a nasty bruise across her arm.

The felon in question got his fair share despite the strike that slowed her down a bit.

Now it was squeaking each time she stretched her arm out in a sheathing action, as well as hurt its say.

A wave of exhaustion soaked her, and she couldn’t care less about the groaning of the metal. Mayna would come around soon, she was always ready when it mattered (and when it didn’t), and Evelyn felt selfish enough to lie still until then – or well, she was rather too tired to do anything.

Any minute Mayna would come in and help the poor Herald out of her metal casing…

Yes, any minute…

Evelyn dozed off.

 

A few hours later, she came to a start as there was a humble thudding somewhere in her vicinity. It sounded like wood whapping against a log. Maybe it was knocking. The door usually knocked…

Evelyn suddenly felt a strange urgency to get up and open the damn door, if at least to stop the thudding that ached in her head. It tuned in with her head-ache quite expertly – like the knocker-in-question knew it would.

A furrow creased her expression unwittingly, and she willed herself to move to the door despite any desperate pain in her joints and especially the shoulder.

With a strong swipe, the door flew open. Immediately the cold winter wind iced across her skin and she squinted at the light, even if it was humbled by the clouds and the fact that the sun was setting. She groaned under her breath, but focused on the person in front of her.

“Ah, Commander.” She managed in a hoarse voice. She realized she felt disconcertingly sticky and stiff.

Cullen stood steadfast in front of her, or at least his body seemed to, as his face twanged in regret or pity – she couldn’t quite tell. His hands were knit behind his back and he looked as professional as ever. He gave her a curt nod and the plastered smile that had sat on his features quickly dropped once he seemed to take her person in.

She was a little hunched, one arm draped across her chest as the hand clutched onto the opposite shoulder. A swollen bruise sat high on her cheek and her lips were dryly cracked. Bags sat under her piercing eyes, and her overall state seemed battered. He realized he hadn’t truly seen her during any return and had thus not contemplated her state after such long journeys – not beyond a personal worry, and not enough to want to embarrass himself by her quarters again. But here he stood, despite knowing better.

“Herald. You- Uhm, well.” A hand snaked up to his neck, and he massaged it compulsively.

“I came to help. You. I came to help you.” His words were off, like he was taken on the bed for a speech.

It was amusing, but it didn’t show on Evelyn, as she was dreadfully aware of the sweat-soaked shirt that was sticking to her back.

“Help? With what are you supposed to help?” She began when the silence had stretched long enough, and he had not taken the hint to continue.

He blinked and scratched his scalp.

“Well, to be frank I was not supposed to be here. Mayna was to be sent to aid you as usual, but it seems the duty has fallen to me – how, I cannot quite say. Leliana is a sly fox is all I know.” His lilt was both unsure and embarrassed – by what Evelyn couldn’t tell.

She knew it wasn’t quite appropriate for men to aid women somehow, or at least be alone with them in private quarters – and whilst she’d experienced embarrassment over a man-woman silly encounter she had some grasp of the situation – but for the life of her she couldn’t bring herself to protest just then.

All she wanted was a bath and sleep, in a bed this time.

Evelyn’s gaze fell to his ‘lone hand as it grasped his waist.

“I was wondering where Mayna was.”

“She is being visited by family actually. Apparently her brother came in with the last refugee wagon, and her free-time was granted. Cassandra is merciful when it comes to family.” Cullen explained, and shifted where he stood.

“Rightfully so. Well then, Commander, I can only thank you for the help.” Evelyn said and stepped back into her room, leaving the door open for him to follow. He came across the threshold before closing the door behind him, and stilling as he took in her home.

It was cozier than his, more furnished and brandished with trinkets and oddities – no doubt from her journeys. He liked it but it would surely not fit his stature, and as his mind digressed from the observation he felt awfully focused on her. This was not fit his stature either – not fit for him to help _her_ like this.

The familiar buzz of her presence was tingling in his ears, but it didn’t quite make his fingers curl and his blood boil. It was more a distraction now as his body felt absolutely fooled by Leliana. It was a scheme – she did this on purpose. Any other soul in Haven would’ve been more fit for this than him.

She glanced over at him once she reached the middle of the room – he was still standing in the hallway looking all too much like a nervous boy.

She raised a brow at him.

“Are you alright, Commander?”

He snapped to attention, finding her eyes and nodding.

“Of course. Pardon me.”

He hesitated at the first step, but came to stand by her side to inspect her armour. It was impressive but soft, easily dented evidently. It had to be light, for her sake, but as such it lost in effective defense.

“Do you know how to unfasten it?” She began again.

“Yes. Sorry… Let me just-“He grabbed under her arm as it was stretched out for him to reach the buckles. He lifted it slightly as he fiddled her pauldron loose from under her armpit. With a little wiggling, it plopped off of the breastplate, and Evelyn sighed heavily. It prompted a little smile on his lips.

“You’re quite battered, if I may say so. Is your armour not fitted to you?” He started as he realized the deep dent in her pauldron had bruised her. If it was properly made for her even a dent in the soft metal shouldn’t touch her like that.

She thought for a while.

“I can’t say. It was given to me, I assumed it was for the best – like a Tranquil would, I suppose.” She said vaguely, not quite understanding it herself.

“I suppose, but this just isn’t acceptable for battle. Let me commission a better one for you, one that won’t-“

“No. I like this one. It’s mine, it’s from- from my home. The mages made it for me. My parents-“ She stopped, her eyes flicking away from him.

He chastised himself but a stubborn feeling of needing her to be safe – perhaps more common sense than her sentiment for the armour.

“But my Lady, it’s only a matter of time before it can’t be re-formed and fitted onto you again. You need something that’ll last you, keep you safe. I couldn’t possibly call myself a good commander if I let our Herald die in battle due to my unsafe precautions in gear.”

He came to step to her front side more, as to see her face. The buzzing magic that exuded from her was uneasy and almost aggressive.

She was biting her lower lip, as if to silence herself.

“You’re right, of course. Forgive me; I shouldn’t latch onto the past like so.” She looked down, her arms coming down to her sides. He felt very bad then.

“There is no harm done, please – I understand you more than you know. I will personally see to it that your armour will be kept safe for your personal use.”

It wasn’t exactly a hug and pat on the back, but she nodded as her pained expression gradually left her. He could not leave here feeling like a good man if he’d left her like that.

A silence hung then between them, and he nodded to her arm again. She raised it as far as she could and he started at her forearm cover. With deft hands it was quickly unfastened and he slid it off of her arm, quickly continuing with her opposite side.

Pauldron; forearm.

With their auras in control, it was almost enjoyable to do this for her. It reminded him of his early time in the Templar order as he aided the other recruits in armour undressing and redressing; both for practice and companionship. She wasn’t quite as easy.

It was meek of her to let her emotions slip like that – and in front of the Commander no less. If any one person could have her sent off due to liability, it would be the council members. The silence was palpable, and unsettling warmth swept up her back. She was sweating a bit again as two bodies were just too warm in her room.

He stopped then. She looked at him expectantly as her only pieces left was her greaves and leg-guards. His brows had furrowed and he was scratching his neck _again_.

“Something wrong?” She asked informally, a little out of her depth again.

“Ah- Uhm… Do you want me to unstrap them too?” He gestured to the bottom part of her body.

“Oh, you don’t have to, of course. I can do it from here. Thank you dearly, C-.. Cullen.” It stuttered from her lips, and she was almost shocked on her own accord. She hadn’t meant to say his name, but she felt bad suddenly as she’d contemplated all she’d said to him. She had been so impersonal, left no space for human interaction – a marble Herald and her stone Commander.

“You are welcome, my Lady Trevelyan.” A warm smile spread on his features once his mind reconnected after the short break. It wasn’t unusual for people to call him by his name, just unusual for her. He couldn’t say he disliked hearing it in her voice.

Yet again the silence claimed them both, but Evelyn wouldn’t have it. He was here, he’d been more than forgiving and merciful for what she thought she’d deserve for her uncut behavior.

“Commander,”

His smile split into a grin.

“Please, call me Cullen.” He was being cheeky, and she didn’t seem to notice – somehow it made it all the sweeter _and horrible (bad Cullen)._

She nodded and her eyes smiled; something he hadn’t seen for a very long time.

“Cullen. I hope that you can- To be true, I hope that you can forgive me for my… being me.”

He raised a brow at her.

“I do not mean to hurt with my absence in mind... I am just torn in the moment. To be _living_ again is stressful I’ve learned. Emotions are hard and rigid and yet they flow through me like a hurricane.” She was gesturing then, stepping back from him and looking past him as to catch a shape in her mind. Her hands dropped to her sides once she was quiet, and she looked like a soaked puppy.

“I don’t know how to handle them. I don’t know how to be Herald and human.” She began again with less force, and more emotion seeping through her words. Evelyn couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of her mouth – it was that part of her taking control and letting them spill onto the poor man. Fathom yourself, woman, have some restraint!

Expecting a harsh disdain, she was surprised to see his features soften somewhat, and his hands coming together over his chest.

“There is nothing to forgive you for, _Evelyn_. You have not hurt me – never could you hurt me like so. I can’t say that I fully understand your predicament but that makes me no less willing to help you, my Lady.”

His meaning hit her with the likes a wall of sunshine, and yet it hurt inside. She was looking hopeless, sad eyes drooping and lips ajar as she breathed. What she didn’t expect was _this_ – everything that everyone did to reassure her that she wasn’t mad to be experiencing humanity.

It was oddly logical, of course, once both Cassandra and Cullen had said it alike.

 _Let us help you_.

It echoed within her.

“Emotions _are_ hard, for everyone; even for ever-frowning-Cullen.” He joked, imitating Varric’s stout voice. It earned a tug at her lips, and she diverted her gaze to her hands that were fiddling with her gloves. Most certainly was he pleased.

“But with all seriousness, it is something we all deal with – some of us more than others. So, don’t fear _yourself._ ” He paused, eyes searching for something on her face.

“I’m perhaps not the best with emotions-“Funny, no council member seemed to be “the best” with emotions, Evelyn noted. “-being a Commander for one, but also being me.”

She nodded, letting go of her own hands and slipping them down her legs instead. He stood quiet then in the middle of starting a new sentence. She was odd… So human, but odd.

“I appreciate your words, Cullen.” She replied shortly, meaning it no less.

Cullen raked a hand through his blond curls and swallowed. He was being rude.

“Uh- I’m sorry. Don’t let me stray, I shan’t disturb you further.”

“Don’t be silly. You couldn’t possibly disturb.” She answered still bent over herself as she was unwrapping her greaves. He stared with a certain uncouth. She was hardly fuzzed about it.

“Hah... Hm… I will take due note.” He jested and rocked back on his heels slightly. She didn’t glance back.

She stepped out of her boots soon enough, and then she stood in all of her elegance wrapped in her cloth and leather gear. Even as there were several layers left of clothing, it was evident she had been very exhausted from battle – the fabric was slicked against her body due to the sweat and any other fluid it had been soaked in. He pulled his gaze to her face – what was she... _Don’t stare, you fool._

She gave him a look and a tilt of her head.

“Excuse me, uh…” He started, looking out the window to not have to meet her cold blue eyes.

“You’re a funny man, Cullen.” It was almost a chuckle. Her steps lead away from him, and he slowly glanced back at her as her back was to him.

There were a few purple bruises where the clothing was torn, but at least no blood had stained her. Obviously she handled her well in battle, he couldn’t doubt that, but she was not a knight – not a Templar. Wielding a sword and shield wasn’t her nature even if she perpetuated it. If she truly wanted to fight with such weapons, she’d need a bit more practice than what a magi-circle could offer. Perhaps he could…

He nodded to her attention.

She had stopped by the entrance to her washing room, one hand leaning against the wall and the other wrapped across her abdomen as a towel was draped over it. Her white hair was disheveled and her battle-hardened face was soft and slightly damp in sweat, blue eyes watching him under long lashes. She looked tall – which she was by any means – but it only elongated any feature that already seemed elegantly slender and graceful. _What am I-_

“I was going to bathe but… You seem to be inclined to stay for it; perhaps it is you who wishes to bathe?” She had a cat-like squint to her eyes, and a lopsided smile. She was joking. A joke!

“Oh! No, no, no – Ah, don’t let me distur- I mean I’ll go- I shouldn’t… Ah. Uhm.” He looked startled as his hands gestured wildly, and he stepped towards the entrance. She regarded his boy-ish charm. Yes, it was charming. She realized she liked making him do that. Her lopsided smile grew into a teasing grin once she had turned her back to the wall instead. She shifted her weight onto it.

He gave a sheepish grin before he promptly closed the door in his leave. Cullen exhaled a deep breath, and made his way towards his study to wash some cold water over his head. _Damned fool._

 

The bath was quick and mindless – and she appreciated it more than she realized. Cullen and Cassandra’s words were filling her up. Perhaps she could be just human. Perhaps that was what the Herald had to be. It was a hard thought to grasp, but she _had_ just been a normal human with the commander – joking, smiling, letting it be her.

But still… She hadn’t been the Herald with him. No thought had gone to the battle at hand, not a slip of mind had turned to her mark. It was hard to be both.

So hard.

After the washing, she clothed herself absently, and went to bed. The night was clear and the stars twinkled in her window. She slept dreamless.

 

The following week was spent in Haven, as Evelyn worked with her followers to build Haven into a bigger hub for their refugees. A market was opened in the camps and the usual folk in the actual town was sent to work there instead. Two make-shift watchtowers were installed at the furthest most point in the camps, and ballistae were in the commissioning. Now that the inquisition was building in power, they were also gaining enemies; powerful enemies. She didn’t like them, they were big and ugly and menacing. But she walked with the workers, and commended them for their excellent work – they obviously appreciated it as they praised her and thanked the maker that she was there to protect _them_.

She didn’t protest. It wouldn’t be right no matter how illogical it was that she’d protect all of them.

Evelyn wasn’t quite able to let herself shine through with the people, but they didn’t seem to fully mind, no rumour had reached her ears anyway.

The council had been called twice during this time, and they discussed the next move – to approach the Templars. It hadn’t be immediately decided, as there were two prospects still to recruit followers into the Inquisition; one “Iron Bull” and a certain Enchantress Vivienne. It was said that Evelyn was to scout their intentions and see if they’d be valued recruits.

The Iron Bull turned out to be a sort-of-spy, and whilst Evelyn had been quite _upset_ with his presentation of it – and right out threatened him that if he parlay information that’ll compromise the Inquisition she’ll stump his horns. Or that Leliana will, it was all understood at least.

He’d been delighted by her fierce protection of the Inquisition and claimed it to have fired his decision to join them even further; it took Evelyn by surprise, but she still accepted his ‘application’. He was a good warrior.

Vivienne had been another piece of work. Evelyn had no good experience of parties, and came fully geared to the gathering. Looks had been given to her, words had been whispered and one fool came up to confront her menacingly. She’d been on her guard, but mostly for the massive aura of mages that suffocated her – the man in question was merely a loud voice.

He’d threatened her with a weapon, but the mysterious Enchantress had frozen him in place – and with some coaxing from Evelyn she let the angry man live if he left the gathering at once.

The discussion that followed the event was unsettling on Evelyn’s part. Vivienne hadn’t been shy to comment on Evelyn’s Tranquil origins, and almost questioned if it was still wise to join the Inquisition due to it. Evelyn had persevered any feelings of disdain for Vivienne however, and convinced her that no past of hers would interfere with the noble intentions of the Inquisition.

It had been enough, and they shook hands on the matter before Evelyn promptly left with her party that was waiting outside. Sera had been brought along for the matter, as she’d been so furiously excited about getting to finish some work in the capital on the way, and she quickly commented on Vivienne’s polished outside. Something about a stick in an unpleasant place; and Varric agreed.

Evelyn didn’t disagree.

 

Once in Haven again, she spent one more day settling the new recruits in, even if Vivienne wasn’t told where to stay and automatically chose the grandest hall in the chantry. The Iron Bull was happy to stray around Haven, and mostly took time to speak with Varric. The two wasn’t exactly alike, but they shared stories with enthusiasm.

And soon enough, it was time to confront the Templars.

 

There were a few hours of preparation, where fuzz came to be over the means of travelling. Evelyn still didn’t want to ride, but it was chosen for her as they couldn’t go fast enough with a whole caravan. Varric had agreed with Evelyn, but he was given the choice of either riding on the same horse as Cassandra or Blackwall; and thus he was more inclined to ride with Blackwall

The party was chosen on the terms of no mages – as to not be directly attacked by the Templars. It was decidedly more peaceful to bring as few magical bodies as possible.

The council had been present in their departure, giving both final advice and warnings. The Commander had been inclined to ask the Herald to directly mention his thoughts on the matter with the Lord-Seeker. They’d gathered at the Therinfal Redoubt, and it was said that Evelyn was to convince the Lord-Seeker to bring the Templars out of exile with the help of the nobles that follow the Inquisition. With or without the Lord-Seeker himself, the Templars would align with the Inquisition.

They had to.

 

The party of four set off, meant to gather with the nobles just a few hundred feet away from the Lord-Seekers location. Josephine had been clear on the matter of which nobles to directly approach or trust – there were not many of them, but Evelyn took note. A certain lord Abernache was one to watch out for apparently.

The trip was uneventful, despite it being rocky for Evelyn at first. The old horse they’d offered her was experienced and she soon found a good rhythm.

Soon they’d reach the meet-up, and you could seem from afar the mass that had gathered. It wasn’t terribly impressive, but at least ten orleasians houses were gathered in the name of the Inquisition. It would get the Lord-Seekers attention sure enough.

They dismounted their steeds and had them grazing the fields just outside of the Redoubt. The people greeted the Herald and her party as they approached, but didn’t linger as it was soon time to conjoin for a meeting. A thick orleasians accent called her full title.

“The Herald of Andraste!”

A rather small man came forth, presenting himself as the certain lord Abernache. Evelyn became guarded, but greeted him with respect. Josephine had taught her how, of course.

The party continued on once they saw it would take some time for the Herald to barter with the Lord. As it would.

The Lord and the Herald made their way into Redoubt’s outer courtyard, speaking of the meeting at hand. He didn’t offer Evelyn anything, but he asked her about the task; seemingly questioning the Heralds work. Apparently the Lord-Seeker hadn’t immediately opened the castle gates as the nobles had gathered – he was waiting for _her_ , personally.

A thick lump settled in her stomach, but she questioned him back – it wouldn’t be too illogical for him to actually want to meet the Inquisition at hand, even if they had the power to summon all of these nobles.

The two of them reached the gate of the grand “hide-out”. The weather was grey and raining. The big structure was partially covered by a mist that had swept up over the low-lands during their journey to the castle. It looked ominous, like a _bad idea_ simply. Varric resounded her thoughts by commenting on how it looked like a torture castle for kicking small animals. It didn’t quite sit right with Evelyn but she got the gist of it.

A commotion spread over the orleasians, and Evelyn directed her attention to the source. A Templar had come out.

“Ah, it seems they’ve sent someone to greet you. Do present yourself well.” The Lord finalized, and went on into the crowd that had formed on the bridge to the gate. Evelyn steeled herself.

“Is the Lord-Seeker reputed to change his mind quickly?” Evelyn asked anyone who’d answer.

“No. He is a resolute man. Something must’ve changed his mind in the last minute.” Cassandra noted; her arms crossed over her breastplate as she regarded the castle with some amount of contempt.

Evelyn nodded still, and the party moved onward.

A few orleasians had cornered up several Templars that had already been outside on guard duty, questioning them on the Order’s intentions on the “heretical magic” in the sky; would the Order not protect the people like they’d sworn?

Evelyn passed the first gate, that had been drawn up for her to meet the representative.

Beyond the first gate laid the stables and just in front of the smaller draw gate towards the castle stood a dark man in simple Templar armour. He looked unfazed, but as she approached him he tensed, his brows furrowing deeply and his nose twitching in some sort of disgust. Her mark was visible, but had he been so disturbed by that he’d reacted much sooner – No, this was her aura clashing with his.

The Commander’s aura was grand, _red_ , and filled the air everywhere he walked. It was powerful beyond what she’d ever felt, and this Templar confirmed it further. His was much more rigid, like a box around his vicinity but weaker and uncouth. Certainly had he assessed her own buzzing already, and he visibly restrained himself as she came to a stop in front of him. A follower of Lord Abernache was in the moment of introducing both the Lord and the Templar – a Ser Barris – but Barris soon interrupted the conversation to quickly approach the Herald. Urgency swept over the man and any sign of his disgust vanished.

He explained that it was he that Cullen had corresponded with in the Redoubt, and he was quick to summarize the Lord-Seekers actions. He had refused to take any recourse against the Breach, and Barris was seemingly distressed. The Lord-Seeker was apparently effected by the lofty company that the Inquisition called upon (as was expected), but it was a nervous tension in the Templar that foretold that perhaps it wasn’t as fortunate as Evelyn had hoped.

The Lord-Seeker had taken full control of the Templar Order, promising to restore any power lost after the Conclave, but his actions didn’t empower them a bit – to order them to wait… for what? Action needed to be taken.

Cassandra noted that it was in his right to govern the Templars so long as he fulfilled his promise; something he wasn’t exactly doing.

Ser Barris noted how their responsibilities as Templars were being squandered in wait, and he was eager to have the Herald approach the Lord-Seeker. He said he was convinced of the loyalty of his fellow Templars. They’d rally to the Herald if she could win over the Lord-Seeker.

Barris was rudely prompted by Abernache to “get on with it” and have them see his betters – those “born to it”. Barris was visibly disturbed, but saw sense in moving on.

The party followed him toward the castle.

A chilly wind crept down Evelyn’s collar, and soon Barris spoke again. Something wasn’t quite right here.

“The Lord-Seeker had one request before you meet him.” He began with an uncertain tone. He seemed bothered, and it didn’t help Evelyn either.

Barris explained that he wishes for the Inquisition to perform a right of standards, and choose in which order they fall in importance to the Herald – surely to somehow judge her character from the ordeal.

“I will be honoured to perfom this rite in the name of the Inquisition.” Evelyn started, trying for the formal approach.

“No, not the Inquisition.” Barris interrupted, turning to face Evelyn as they stood in front of the standards that represented the three vessels – the Order, the People and the Maker.

“You. The Lord-Seeker changed everything to meet you. _You_ – by name.”

Evelyn staggered a bit, one hand grasping at her hilt. Something was wrong, indeed.

“Why?” she asked with the shock in her throat.

“I don’t know. He’s been fixated with you ever since this horde of nobles arrived.” He continued, honesty on his character.

Evelyn looked back at the standards. What was the meaning of this?

The Lord Abernache echoed her thoughts by demanding that she refuse to perform the ritual and meet the man as soon as possible.

Whatever was bothering Evelyn ghosted up her arms. Was it magic? She couldn’t really tell here. Too many Templars naturally subdued her aura and she didn’t want to startle them in any way at this point. She couldn’t fight them all. With quick glances around her, she fell back on Barris.

“We will complete the Lord-Seekers request.”

Barris nodded, and added that he’ll take them to the Lord-Seeker once they’re done.

Evelyn stared at the wheels for turning the standards into place. She wasn’t sure what to value.

Something spurred her on however, and she came to stand in front of the People’s standard first. With two spins on the wheel, it came to stand highest first. Whispers broke out among the on-lookers, but Evelyn ignored them. Taking a moment to think, she then approached the Templar’s standard and raised it up just below the first, leaving the Maker’s standard at the bottom. She couldn’t bring herself to see the Maker standing high than what the people believe themselves. Logic told her not to.

Cassandra watched Evelyn, as well as Blackwall as he laid a hand on her shoulder. Cassandra didn’t seem approving, but Blackwall followed her choice. Varric was uninterested as a whole.

She looked to Ser Barris.

“Traditionally, the participant will now explain their choice.”

Evelyn nodded.

“The people govern faith and right. It is them we protect as a whole, and the Maker is a part of us all. For that I decidedly believe the people are the most important.”

Several nobles nodded to her explanation, all whilst whispering amongst themselves. Abernache made yet another rude comment, but Evelyn shunned his opinion – he was proving difficult to side with.

Ser Barris retorted the Lord’s commentary, and the two of them bickered once more. Soon enough the Templar ignored their little arrest and told them to follow him as to meet the Lord-Seeker.

Thunder resounded across the landscape, and the party moved slowly toward the castle doors. If the world wasn’t telling Evelyn this was a bad idea, she wasn’t sure what was.

Inside the hall was dark, only lit by candles and some spread out torches. A negotiating table had been set up and several requisitions were spread out over it – pen and paper, books of the Order and laws as well as refreshing. The hall came to be filled with both orleasian nobles as well as Templars and their following. Ser Barris and Lord Abernache circled the table to stand at opposite sides and it didn’t take long until the two of them started bickering again about faith and Templars.

Evelyn stood unmoving at the long side of the table, away from the door that surely was where the Lord-Seeker would enter.

Minutes passed, and a silence came to be even if the constant fighting of the two men could be heard. Evelyn held her breath.

A party of three entered from the door. Two Templars and a third that had a garnished helmet and armour – but not the Lord-Seeker.

It turned out that the man had been sent instead.

Abernache didn’t wait to say his disappointment and outright anger. Evelyn tried to have the Lord step down the Knight-Captain, who was exuding an aggressive aura. The Lord refused, and claimed that this could not be accepted.

The Knight-Captain laughed deprecatingly, remarking how pathetic the following of the Inquisition was. Evelyn was grasping her sword again. Ser Barris stood quiet, but had shock stricken over his features. He approached the Captain, exclaiming that he must be informed of what’s happening – he wasn’t prepared for any change in plans.

The Captain roared out over Barris.

“You were all supposed to be changed! Now we must purge all of the questioning knights.” Barris backed off again, throwing his head around to see all of the Templars that were approaching them – red… not dressed like any normal knight.

Evelyn saw them, twisting in place to have them at their distance. This was not going as planned, no. Cassandra and Blackwall both drew their weapons, coming to stand behind the Herald, Varric loading his Bianca and aiming at the archers that stood across the room. Lord Abernache had begun a protest, but an arrow stopped him in his tracks, and sent his cold body tumbling to the wooden floor.

Evelyn held back a gasp as the other red Templars suddenly dispatched all of the other folks waiting in the hall. Barris staggered, drawing his sword and shouting after the Captain of his treachery; or supposed treachery.

Evelyn drew her weapons as well, and went first into the melee Templars, with a bash of her shield she sent two of them into the wall but only as a stagger. Blackwall was quickly behind her, striking out from behind his own shield, targeting one of the enemies.

Cassandra rushed the two Templars on the opposite side, coming down with a heavy blow from her longsword. One of them blocked it while the other ducked under her blade. She was stronger than they could handle.

Varric threw himself over the table, avoiding the Captain and sending two bolts into the chest of one of the archers. The other dove for cover behind a wooden pillar, as Varric did the same.

Evelyn and Blackwall cornered the surviving Templar, and Blackwall swung across his shoulder, he barely had time to block Blackwalls attack before Evelyn drove her sword into his chest – quickly ending his life.

Cassandra slid her blade up the Templars own sword, letting it strike across his collar and slicing his throat. Panic overtook the knight and he threw himself back as he grasped his bleeding wound. The other had time to throw two strikes at Cassandra, both of which she successfully blocked with her grand shield, continuing with a fast approach to his body, and pushing the knight up against the closest pillar. She sheathed her blade into his ribcage whilst he was kicking against her, and soon he fell lifeless to the floor.

Evelyn and Blackwall had undertaken the Captain once his Templars wasn’t around him, and the two of them struck him down with fierceness – Evelyn could feel the magic within her sparkling; driving her mad. Varric had soon enough taken out the last archer with little problem – the whole Templar attack seemed unplanned and improvised.

Ser Barris had been sparring against the Captain successfully until the party was gathered again, and they discussed keeping the man alive with potions to question him later.

They looted the dead bodies for keys, and it was decided that they’d confront the Lord-Seeker aggressively now. He had much to answer for.

The party dwelled deeper into the castle, first battling their way through the lower barracks.

Soon they reached a courtyard that led onto the next level of the castle – but suddenly a voice pierced the air. It was heavy, hoarse and hounded orders onto _someone_ to guide them to him. Evelyn was panting but managed to ask all whilst fighting the next few Templars stationed there.

“Was that the Lord-Seeker?” She shouted, deflecting a heavy blow from one of the red knights. Cassandra responded: “What was?”

Hadn’t she heard?

The party fought their way through the open space, searching the buildings situated at the peripheral of the courtyard. Once they were assured it was empty of red Templars, they ascended the way toward the main chamber of the castle – surely where the Lord-Seeker was hiding by now.

Again, a deep, hoarse voice echoed in the air. It was slightly different, but still familiar.

“The Herald of Andraste! It’s time we become better aquainted.” It exclaimed directly to her, and she threw her head around to find the source. Blackwall regarded her with scrutiny. They all did.

She didn’t comment on it this time, and they rushed toward the door up a set of stairs. Bodies were splayed on the battlement. It was clear _everything_ was wrong by now.

One more man stood up the stairs, just in front of the great copper-coloured door, his back turned to the party. Evelyn slowed in, her magic flowing like a furious river in her veins. This shocking approach of the Templars had set afire her blood and she was ready to lash out at everyone and everything. She did _not_ need this.

Her knuckles were taunted white as she gripped her sword with both of her hands, drawing it in front of her. Her party lingered behind her a bit as she slowly came closer to the man. Evelyn’s features were flared in anger and she was ready to strike him down.

It was quiet, and he didn’t move. It wasn’t right but Evelyn was out of her mind by now.

She raised the sword higher and took a long step toward him.

Suddenly, the man twisted to her, grabbing her by her neck and falling with her backwards, into the door. It caught her off-guard and she almost dropped her sword as she tumbled into darkness. She didn’t hit the door.

She didn’t hit anything but cold, soft grass. Evelyn’s breaths were labored after the fighting, and sweat was beading on her forehead. It was dark, but in the distance a green light shone; illuminating the mist that crep across the ground.

She was standing under a stone valve, little green lanterns spread across the ground. Evelyn tapped her sword against the wall behind her. There was no door there, no entrance nor exit.

Magic; she knew it now. This wasn’t her world.

The apparition of the man – Lorde-Seeker – had grunted something as it had grabbed her. “At Last” it echoed.

She breathed deeply. No companion could save her from this, and she’d have to continue on her own.

She sheathed her sword and ran her leather gloved hands over her head, brushing away any loose strands of hair from her damp face. The mist was thick and made it hard to breath, but Evelyn made her way through it.

As she made it closer to the lanterns it seemed as if… they weren’t lanterns at all. They were charred bodies, their head split open and a fire ever-burning in their mind. She avoided them cooly, not letting her emotions betray her now.

If she was in the veil – dreaming – any emotion could attract any demon. Perhaps now was one of the gravest moments not to let her marble walls slip.

A quiet benedict prayed in her thoughts, and he continued past the poor souls.

The further she walked, the more bodies appeared in the mists. The odour was pungent and filled her senses. _It’s not real._

Two figures came forth from the mist a few feet ahead. They were familiar, but rigid and stiff. A green light splashed colour across the forms and then she saw.

It was Cullen and Josephine.

She stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening in some realization. _Not real. Not real._

A gasp came from the thick snores behind the two _zombies_ and the form of Leliana stepped out – a sickening grin plastered on Lelianas otherwise tranquil features.

Evelyn stepped back, hands once again on her weapon.

“Is this useful? Will this form let me _know_ you?” She asked, her eyes boring through Evelyn.

Evelyn stared back, not letting one word slip her lips.

Leliana began circling back, coming to stand behind the form of Cullen. Evelyn watched carefully.

“Everything tell me about you.”

“…And so will this; watch.” It continued, and the grin grew as she drew  a dagger from her waist, sliding it up Cullen’s arm and stopping at his throat. Evelyn’s breath hitched.

_Not real, not real…._

His eyes were empty and his entire body still. As was she.

“Are you trying to tempt me or copy me, demon?” Evelyn finally said, gesturing dismissively with her hand. She wouldn’t play this game.

Sad eyes struck the demonic Leliana, and she sloppily let the dagger draw across Cullen’s throat. Blood gushed out and the still form of the Commander fell to the ground soundlessly.

“Are you trying to copy me…?” it echoed her voice almost perfectly. Evelyn’s face was twisted in harsh disbelief.

The form of Josephine approached her then as a laugh rippled through her body.

“Being you will be so much more interesting than being the Lord-Seeker…” it continued in Josephine’s voice as it toyed with a dagger – the same dagger.

Evelyn followed the demon with her eyes, but suddenly it dissipated into the mist and Evelyn stepped back.

“Do you know what the Inquisition could become?” it whispered into her ear.

Evelyn twisted fast, throwing one hand out at the demon. It wasn’t there when she turned.

Her heart was beating hard in her ribcage, magic tingling at her fingertips.

“When I’m done, the Elder One will kill you and ascend. Then I will _be_ you.” It’s voice echoed through the valve. It was coming from everywhere and nowhere.

“Does this _Elder One_ think it can become divine? That is the oldest conceit of mortals.” Evelyn hissed back, turning in her place as to be ready for any new apparitions.

Josephine’s laughter filled the air.

“He knows. He was there.”

It danced past her, coming to stand close in front of Evelyn.

It spoke of glory, and how Evelyn would serve by dying in the right way.

“Keep talking, then.” Evelyn snapped, her arms coming up to drape over her breastplate. The apparition smile at her, and walked off into the mist.

Whispers floated past Evelyn and she followed the noise until she saw the form of Cullen again. He looked positively mad, one hand clutching a dagger.

“I am not your toy. I am Envy, and I _will_ know you!” He snarled at her, watching her with hungry eyes.

“Tell me, ‘Herald’, in your mind.” It continued as it walked past her, and came up to a dark shadow of… _her._

“Tell me what you think.” It hissed; sliding its dagger into your shadow’s back. She flinched at the sight, but kept her eyes fixated on his form. This wasn’t Cullen, _no._

Her shadow-form groaned in pain and fell to the ground. Evelyn turned away, and found herself facing Cullen again as he leaned over the war-table. With a glint in his eyes, several candles lit up on the table.

“Tell me what you _feel._ ” It mused to her, a wicked smirk spreading on Cullen’s kind features. It wasn’t right. Its gloved hands drove into the wood of the table and created scratch marks. Slowly, the form straightened up and unhinged the cape of the Commander’s gear. Evelyn watched; horrified by the display that _wasn’t Cullen_.

It circled around the table, following her steps as she staggered backwards toward a pillar. It opened up Cullen’s armour, letting it drop randomly to the ground as it walked. As it came to stand in front of her it was merely wearing his cloths and leather. Evelyn was cold-sweating; her cheeks and face burning hot. She couldn’t bring herself to draw her sword just then, and Cullen’s fingers stroked across her jaw.

Evelyn flinched to the side, her eyes closing tight. _Stop, please._ Her fingers grasped at her armour, anything to keep them from pulsating with magic.

Suddenly a groan sounded above her, and Evelyn stood straight again, watching her own form bend over itself onto the ground – bleeding and dying. She was holding the dagger now.

With disgust and fear, she threw the dagger to the side. Her eyes were wide and her features tense.

She was alone again.

 

She breathed deeply, her own noises filling her ears. A new light was filling the area – white like daylight, and Evelyn jogged toward it. It was a doorway into another room.

The demon was playing its game. An envy demon as it had ‘revealed’. Evelyn knew enough about them to know it was trying to compromise her, and it almost had with Cullen. If it succeeded, the demon would take Evelyn’s body and impose its wicked plans in her name.

She could not let that happen.

 

The following rooms were similar, showing visions of what would come to be if the envy demon got control over her. Executions by her friends, herself becoming a lord of the realm. It was fearful to think of it.

“Is this your only pleasure, demon?” Evelyn hissed at the mist.

Laughter rumbled her person and it asked her if that was what she was. Accusing.

Her eyes squinted ahead and she told herself to ignore the evil. Pillar in depiction of horrors were spewing blue and green fire onto the ground. Magic fire. With patience and virtue she navigated the ever-moving mace of fire, coming to a stop as the apparition of the Lord-Seeker sprinted past her. She wanted to follow, but the door was licked in the magic fire she’d just avoided.

Suddenly, a new voice tuned in just as a swell of anger warmed her.

“You’re hurting… Helpless and hasty. What happens to the hammer when there are no more nails?”

It was a boy’s voice. Soft and hinting with worry. Was it speaking of her? Was it the demon, playing with her again?

Evelyn marched on into a different doorway.

“What are you?! Get out! This is my place!” the demon shouted over the boy’s voice.

Silence fell over Evelyn, but she continued.

She had to return to the real world.

Just as she’d exit the second room she’d searched in for answer, the boy returned.

“Wait.” It said, and Evelyn felt compelled to listen.

He spoke in slight riddles, saying that envy was hurting her, trying to _be_ her but that it couldn’t truly.

He wanted to help, he said.

Evelyn recognized it slightly then. She asked him if she knew him, and he continued with saying that he’d been watching, that they were inside of her, in her mind.

Together they spoke, and the boy tried to convince her that he was peaceful, wanting to help and _hear_ as he put it.

It told her of the demon, that it had corrupted the commanders of the order, made them _red_ inside. She listened quietly, regarding the boy as he appeared in front of her. He was slender, a big brown hat covering most of his face. Clad in leather and cloth he looked unprepared for fight, but didn’t _feel_ unprepared.

She asked him of the dream, how the demon was stealing her face and all he could say was that they’d need to hurry out of her body, and save her in the flesh.

Cole, was his name. She told him hers, as if he didn’t know it already.

Once she had calmed herself enough to think, she asked him to help her escape then, get her back her face.

He explained that envy was having a hard time perpetuating all of this in her mind, and that if she just kept moving and stretched the demon to its edges, it wouldn’t be strong enough for her eviction of it.

It made sense to her – and for once something did in here.

He wished her luck, and told her he’d follow her way there. Evelyn agreed to him.

He was odd to say the least. He wasn’t human, not in her eyes – but he wasn’t a demon. A spirit then. A helpful spirit?

Together they approached the fire covered doorway, and he helped her imagine water instead of fire pouring out. It worked, and she immediately continued. Together they would do this.

 

More visions appeared as Evelyn navigated through the dream castle. Her companions were spread thin within each vision, and it _hurt_ to see them. They were all in pain – they could see her and they could question her, but they couldn’t hear her. Helplessly, she had to watch her friends suffer with each lingering moment.

It spurred her unwittingly.

One room contained the small visage of the Commander, trapped behind steel bars. He pleaded for his release, demanding that he knows his crime – demanding to know why she’d done this to the Inquisition and to _him_.

She’d wanted to scream at him that she’d never let this happen, but it wouldn’t matter. Only envy would hear her.

After several more visions, she exited the castle onto a courtyard. The same courtyard as she’d fought in as Therinfal Redoubt. So she was there, but alas in her mind.

Many rift demons spawned on the ground, and joined them did the red Templars she’d slain. It ached in her joints and in her legs, but she ran past them, wishing them all away.

It didn’t work like that, but as she rushed onwards toward the great gates again, where this whole nightmare had started, she could slow down.

This time, there was not a soul around. She approached the gates slowly, her shield and sword drawn ready for any ambush.

Two hands grasped her neck again, twisting her around and pushing her up against the gates. It was her. Her shadow-form, lifting her up and off the ground by her armour. Evelyn’s breath strained and she kicked against it helplessly. The shadow roared at her.

“Unfair, unfair! That thing kept you whole, kept me from becoming _you_!” It was twisting its head as if in pain, eyes squinting and closing and refocusing on her again and again. It was tiring.

Evelyn coughed out words at it, trying to understand what it wanted truly.

It mimicked her words in a mocking voice, its nose creasing in anger and frustration.

It spat at her, one green-glowing hand coming up against her temple. Evelyn twisted away from the touch, but couldn’t move far.  


“We’ll start again, more pain this time! The Elder One still comes.” It spoke to itself, as the green magic surged in its palm. It was about to invade her skull when Cole appeared behind it.

“It’s frightened of you.” He said sadly, watching the two Evelyns fight against each other.

“Get out of-“

The demon loosened its grip on Evelyn as Cole distracted it, and Evelyn didn’t miss a beat.

With a strong kick to its thigh, it dropped her and she came after it – striking her forehead into its own. They both staggered backwards in the hit and Evelyn’s gaze was filled with stars…

Her feet found the ground. She was back.

Shaking her head as to clear her mind, she looked back to see her friends there – it filled her heart with hope.

The door the demon and Evelyn had passed through earlier (or not at all), had crashed open and a sick form of skin and flesh writhed in front of her.

It was Envy.

As soon as she’d seen it, the demon screeched at her and dissipated into a black smoke – hurriedly surging over the heads of all that saw it and into a green magi barrier across the chamber.

“The Lord-Seeker!” Ser Barris exclaimed next to Evelyn.

She was feeling her fingers across her neck, trying to massage away the ache.

“No. An imposter.” She answered him, not letting her eyes stray from where the demon had entered the barrier.

Barris watched her, and then the knights ahead of him.

“That monster ensured we weren’t prepared. I still don’t know what we’re up against.” He continued, his voice now fighting to keep calm.

“Envy replaced the Lord-Seeker.” Evelyn began again, glancing at Ser Barris.

The few knights that hadn’t followed any attack plans stood in the chamber with the Herald, uncertainty hanging over all of them. They needed someone to guide them now.

It came harsh down on Cassandra, and she looked frightened as she realized that it meant that the Lord-Seeker was either caged or dead. Ser Barris said her thoughts.

Ser Barris was angry then.

He explained how it had come to happen, how the demon had first fed the commanders so the knights wouldn’t question if the red lyrium was dangerous or not. It would’ve been the knight’s turn if the Inquisition hadn’t barged on their door-step requesting an alliance. It was truly lucky that she’d come when she did.

A plan was made once Ser Barris was reassured of what Envy was. He explained that he’d need their veterans to defeat the demon, and that the lieutenants would still be outside fighting.

The knights would hold the hall with the envy demon, whilst Evelyn and her party found the senior knights.

The plan was sound, and she wasted no time.

Together again, Evelyn and her companions fought their way into the castle, searching out the lieutenants they could find. Varric was asked to stay behind and help the Templars just in case, and he had protested but couldn’t refuse the Herald’s wish.

Several red Templars were fighting against the senior knights, but they kept them at bay with bravery and perseverance, something Evelyn could only admire as she dispatched the threat around the lieutenants.

With tact and time, the group returned victorious along with three knights and untainted supplies of lyrium.

It had been discovered that a plot against the empress of Orlais, an assassination, but it would have to be discussed in Haven, once Evelyn could secure Therinfal Redoubt.

She felt certain in battle. She had to do this, and so it would be done.

Once they returned, Ser Barris stood ready by the altar at the far back of the hall, closest to the barrier. He was speaking with another elder knight, and soon enough the lyriun was prepared for all of the knights participating in the breaking of the barrier.

Evelyn hated the feeling of the Templars auras reverberating through her once they’d drank the lyrium, but she stood her ground as they conjoined in a circle; sealing their swords into the ground and speaking spells to break the barrier.

As had been expected, some smaller forces of red Templars broke out from the barrier, and Evelyn and her party stood prepared to defend the knights.

Any Templar not joining in the breaking stood at arms as well.

The joined forces of them all kept any demon or red Templar at bay. Together they dispatched the danger at hand as it came.

Once the last few forces were killed, it seemed that the barrier was just about on its knees. The chanting Templars stood up and a final effort pushed the barrier over the edge and blew it into a thousand gleaming pieces.

The shard turned into a green mist that disappeared into thin air.

Evelyn rushed forward – Envy would be slain _now._

The group came out onto a high battlement with an altar at its peak. The demon exploded from a green mist on the ground and suddenly Cole ran with them.

Evelyn saw him from the corner of her eye, but she didn’t look – she knew he’d be with them.

The fight itself was long.

The demon taunted the Herald every chance it got, driving Evelyn toward her own edge. She wanted it dead, destroyed, _annihilated._

It had murdered Cullen in front of her eyes, made him corner her and attack her psyche. Now it was bordering on her rage again and it sparked through her fingers tips.

She felt it like a storm as they fought, rumbling in her chest, itching in her veins. The magic wanted out and Evelyn didn’t.

A single bolt of lightning arched over her sword as she drove it into the demon’s shoulder.

They had pushed it onto the altar, and the edge of the battlement. She stabbed into it again, twisting her sword through its core and out its back.

A horrible screech emitted from it as it was dying, and Evelyn staggered back; her ears ringing from the onslaught. Her chest heaved in strain and anger. It was dying, but it wasn’t enough.

She let her sword pierce its bodice once again, and left it there to drive her shield up its throat, pushing its raw edge into its flesh. _Die, demon!_

Both Blackwall and Cassandra had backed off once they saw it was a dead cause. Evelyn was alone as it finally dropped to the ground, its writhing curses and wicked shouts hushing.

She stood hunched over its still form, both weapons driven into its body – splattered with its dark blood. Fire was brimming in her mouth and lightning was stinging in her palms. It was so close then, so very close that she’d electrocute it or char its remains but its corpse faded into ash, and only a pile of dirt was what was left once the wind swept it away.

“Evelyn.” Cassandra called as she sheathed her sword and shield. Evelyn straightened her back as a long and heavy groan left her lips. She glanced back at Cassandra as she approached the demon’s remains.

“It’s over now.” She called, and the others slowly joined up next to Evelyn.

She reached for her weapons and settled them in their places. Over.

Maybe it was…

Together the party was quick to return to the hall again, Evelyn staying in their front – her thoughts keeping her quiet.

Half way toward the hall, the Templars and knights met them.

The two forces slowed in and came to a stop.

Ser Barris started.

“The demon is dead. Andraste be praised; she shielded you from its touch.”

The young man went on to call out the Templars as he saw them. And all he could offer was that whoever could stand still would follow the Inquisition. They would follow her.

Evelyn watched the faces of those in front of her – both young and old. Whatever had overtaken her in battle against the demon was fading, and only the exhaustion and residue of herself was left.

Evelyn explained the Inquisitions needs of the Templar’s forces, even as Barris said they’d been gutted by this betrayal and needed rebuilding.

Instead, the Herald told them to join the Inquisition as allies, sheltered and aiding in their cause. Together they’d close the Breach and see to it that the Order stays alive for now. They’d live to see another day under the protection and aid of the Herald.

Barris voted for this union, as did the brothers and sisters of the Order present. All together they shouted their approval of the joining and Evelyn stood tall among them. It almost felt like that day in the camps.

People would lend her their faith, and she’d nurture it for them.

The Templars would rally to _her._

 

The return to Haven took much longer with the bands of Templars following the Herald. It would be needed to have some of them meet and greet their fellows once they too joined the Inquisition at Haven. Two days extra was needed to guide them to their new seat in the camps of Haven.

The Herald herself lead the company and symbolized their guidance in this frightening time.

To her they listened once she spoke.

 

In Haven it was bustling with commotion when their great band was spotted. Several groups of people had walked onto the roads to greet them welcome with cheering and praise. No doubt did it raise the morale of the Templars, but Evelyn had started to appreciate their happiness to see her. She needed it then.

Once the many knights were ordered into place and the people of Haven returned to their daily lives, the Herald disbanded with her party and met with the council.

It was strange at first to see their faces full of emotion and life around the war-table. But they were indeed alive.

Josephine was full of colour, rosy cheeks from perhaps drinking a little wine in celebration. Cullen had a kind smile on his lips as she spoke with Leliana; Leliana mimicking the smile in her own way.

Of course, it was all kind of ruined once Cassandra’s furious person stormed in after the Herald.

“Officers betraying their soldiers, Templars without leaders, a demon imitating the Lord-Seeker…” She snarled out, one hand accusingly pointing at the map as if it was one of the treacherous red Templars.

“We should have taken them to task. The crimes they’ve committed…”

Cullen was staring at her intently.

“Were committed by their officers. The soldiers of the Order will serve.” He ended her sentence, both hands resting on his sword.

The jolly buzz of the room turned into a steely one. Leliana had stepped back from the Commander to stand at the edge where she usually stood.

She too looked bothered now.

“These crimes put them at our mercy. Yet the terms of this alliance do not benefit the Inquisition as they should!” She continued of Cassandra’s rant. Apparently she wasn’t all that happy about it as she’d seemed talking to the Commander.

“You should have consulted us, Herald.” She confronted Evelyn, as her arms were knitted together behind her back.

Evelyn faced her; features as cold as the air around them. Perhaps she should have – but was she the Herald for nothing?

“These _crimes_ are not on their hands, Leliana. We are an alliance now and they _will_ aid us. Do not let your anger cloud this fact.” Evelyn hissed back, not enjoying Leliana’s tone. She felt oddly impatient with the ordeal now. Emotions were stirring in her.

Evelyn turned away from Leliana to face Josephine who stood ready to note a mission.

“A few dozen veterans are coming, and they need a regular supply of lyrirum – untainted lyrium. I have a few contacts with me from the Redoubt – I’ll have them contact you Josephine regarding the trade.” Evelyn commanded a bearing voice, her ice-cold orbs boring through the poor woman.

Evelyn was beyond annoyed with the event. She had been fooled into her own mind, ambushed by _red templars_ , forced to watch her friends suffer and be tortured in visions of the envy demon – who was trying to steal her face. Here her greatest supports stood ill-willed and untrusting of the brave souls that had dared fight their superiors and follow the Herald in her cause.

Cullen must’ve somehow felt the Herald’s annoyance, as he shifted toward her, eyeing her cooly. Evelyn noted it with a deathly glare, but digressed from her stance. It would need convincing and time… not anger… Right.

Suddenly the pregnant silence was interrupted by a loud bang and a smoky blue light on top of the table; on the table stood Cole, fiddling with a small oddity.

“The Templars are coming soon.” He spoke more so to himself.

His show-y entrance was not appreciated as the whole council drew their weapons at him – Cullen exclaiming the Maker’s name.

Both the Commander and the Seeker came next to the Herald, as to protect once she didn’t draw her own weapons.

Evelyn reached out to them.

“Wait, don’t attack!” She told them, her hands resting on their tense arms.

Cole told the Herald he’d followed her all the way to Haven, to keep her safe. Evelyn was a bit surprised but she found it in his nature to do that.

Cassandra wanted to call for the guards, but Leliana paused her.

“Let him speak.”

Cole continued.

“You help people. You saved them when they were made to die. I want to _do_ that. I can help.” He said with passion, his eyes finding hers for the first time. They were dark and sad, pained by something physical or otherwise. Evelyn’s browsed arched into a compassionate bow and her mouth twitched.

“I would not have been able to beat the envy demon without his help.” Evelyn explained as she looked to Cassandra.

“But what does he want _now?”_ She asked in annoyance. Her stance was aggressive and ready to strike.

“I want to help. Oh thank you, you will not notice me. I’ll be tiny, miniscule, forgetful…” Cole rambled on, happiness filling his person as he stopped down from the table and thanked her.

It was decided he wouldn’t be freely running around, but he would not be constricted like a prisoner either – Josephine was about to suggest something on the matter when he suddenly disappeared.

Evelyn felt a smile tug at her lips, and she watched where he had stood.

“You’ll get used to it.” She said absently, thinking of the happiness that had filled the boy. That was perhaps what she fought for then; to help people?

The council members shook it off, and together they finalized the meeting – Evelyn would meet with the Templars ahead of the Breach and once she was ready they would close it permanently.

Soon, she’d perform what she was meant to.

The Herald would close the Breach and Evelyn would be let free.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn returns to Haven with the templars, but more things stir around her than the knights of the Order..

The Templars soon settled in – at least the first few ones to arrive.

The camps were filling up to the brim and Evelyn started making more frequent visits to them, usually to speak with the veterans who were supposed to aid her in closing the Breach. They spoke calmly with her, more reassuring her than she was reassuring them.

Refugees sometimes came to report disconcerting incidents between Templars and the common folk, as well as the few mages that was with the Inquisition now. Evelyn was personally sent to speak with any soul that disrupted the peace. Anyone who crossed the inquisitions rules was soon enough retaught in their importance.

Cassandra and the Iron Bull made sure of that.

 

The spring was just around the corner, and some few birds were returning even as the snow still lay thick over the lands. Evelyn had found herself liking the frosty air and mellow snowflakes, it was familiar now. Spring was good news however, as it would mean that the farmers that stayed in their ranks could soon return to their work and sow crops for their fellows.

Children had started playing then, tagging each other and hiding around in Haven – it was a sign if anything that better times were returning in the face of the closing of the Breach.

Evelyn could feel that much… Even if it made her heart pound in her ears at night or her knees feel weak as she stared up at the jade whirlpool that opened the sky.

It was decided she’d close the Breach within a month – as it would take about that much time before all the veterans would reach Haven and be able to aid their Herald. It was acceptable; Evelyn didn’t have much to protest with anyway. It had to be done, like so much else.

Sometimes she found herself contemplating what would happen _after._ Would the inquisition continue to reign in the evil in Orlais and the whole of Thedas? Would it become a force to reckon with in war and the like?

Would Evelyn still be a part of it, and would her companions linger once their purpose was fulfilled?

Perhaps they’d find new purpose then – become an order of justice and righteousness. It was possible that the inquisition would be yet again laid to rest.

The prospect of losing her calling or at least what her calling had become, and be lost in this great mysterious world was daunting – outright frightful. Evelyn never wanted to be alone again and not alone like a tranquil could be, but alone within herself.

When she thought about it now, she realized she could never return to the safety of tranquility; she didn’t want to anymore.

 

On the first day of waiting, about a dozen Templars arrived from the south of Orlais, bringing both news from their outposts and more refugees. Evelyn stood by the roads with Blackwall and the Commander. The two men had been the main hands in greeting the warriors into Haven, both as the commander was an ex-templar and Blackwall felt honour in meeting mighty warriors – especially the Templars who truly foretold of their loyalty to the Templar order.

Blackwall stood with his back straight and chest jutting out proudly, and if Evelyn didn’t know better she’d think he had combed his beard into submission. The commander was no less proud looking as his hands rest on his sword and his gaze held certain strength. Like a bear and a lion, Evelyn thought.

Between the two giant men, Evelyn stood tall still, her arms crossed over her chest and her hair tied up tightly. Her icy gaze seemed to unnerve the younger Templars even from afar, and even more so did her magical presence visibly disturb them once they passed her into the camp. The elder knights were courteous and greeted her with the same demeanour and tact as they greeted the two men. A few had even commended the commander of his past endeavours, but Evelyn was distant.

Not many talked to her directly, and she didn’t try to converse much herself either. It wasn’t needed.

Once the long band of travelling Templars had settled into the camps, Cullen went ahead into their main residence to speak with the senior Templars; they’d need to know the regulations first and foremost, and it was decided Cullen was the best to parlay them.

It wasn’t that Evelyn couldn’t, but she felt too distracted by the massive concentration of nullification reverberating through the air in their area. It made her dizzy and tired – it wouldn’t even be half as bad once it was just the few most experienced Templars aiding her in the closing. Right?

 

Strange sense of hope nuzzled deep within every heart at Haven as the Templars arrived. Their ordering sense and justness of trade brought peace to many who were afraid of the mages, or simply feeling alone in the camps.

Evelyn would’ve agreed any other day with the few folks who’d come up and told her how grateful they were for the helping hands of strong knights and listening ears… But she didn’t feel the same sense of security. The Templars didn’t dampen her own nightmares about the magic surging in her own veins, or the power it commanded. They only enforced it.

If she ever slipped from now on, even in the dreadful moment of the Breach’s closing, they’d strike her on the spot – like they should. No calm could be lost. It was ironic that it only made her more stressed.

 

Her mind was troubled as she strode into the town, toward the chantry. Her gaze was fixed to the ground ahead of her, eyes glazed in thought. Many looked her way, including a worried Varric and an ever-watching Solas. Blackwall had soon followed after the commander into the camps and he could not be expected to report back to her about any happenings.

She would have some time for herself then.

Ignoring any attempts of people to make contact with her, pretending to be deaf or otherwise blind, she moved swiftly.

With a quick swipe of the chantry door, she stepped inside and stopped nowhere before she hurried down the stairs of the dungeon. Her lungs felt tight, brow sweating. Had she made a mistake at this grave hour? Would she even be able to see the Templars? It wasn’t like she’d imagined.

Their suffocating air was constricting her mind, made her feel so weak. Perhaps she was weak without her power. Perhaps she needed it-

Evelyn threw her helmet into the stone cobbled room; she didn’t even remember that she’d been carrying it all this time. It felt like someone was choking her, forcing back any tears that were verging in her eyes and any sobs that wanted to escape her lips. She would’ve been grateful if it didn’t hurt her so much to be quiet.

The fall to the floor seemed effortless, and she sat uncomfortably on her knees, hanging her head low; her features scrunched up in agony. If she had been wrong about this… It meant everything.

A puny sound whimpered past the blockade in her throat, and she grasped her own hands shakily. Muscles spasmed as she tried to keep back the overflowing feeling of failure and sorrow that flooded her senses. Too many depended on her; she couldn’t break down in the possibility of the wrong choice.

She rocked forward, her hands finding the cold floor and finding purchase as her dainty frame shook in the horror.

Panic was gripping her, and it was so illogical that Evelyn wanted to claw at her head – it would be fine! It would be! The Templars could handle her.

There was no doubt, and yet she feared their total loss at the Breach in a month. It wouldn’t end in chaos, she _could_ handle it – it was clear in her head.

_Stop crying._

She whispered between broken and silent sobs.

_Stupid, impossible girl! How will you ever survive if you get so worked up over nothing?_

It was like her mother was right next to her when the voice echoed in her mind. She remembered. It had been like this when Evelyn was a child.

Emotions running amok, wracking her brain with irrational fears and overreactions – breaking down in sobs as the cat caught the mouse. Screaming at the top of her lungs as a spider spun its web down her wall, pressing herself into a corner and freezing in the fear.

To her, everything was so much more real, so much scarier. A demon hid behind every corner, and she could see them. The cat wasn’t a cat; it was an envy demon spying on her. The spider wasn’t spinning a home; it was being seduced by a desire demon under Evelyn’s bed; seduced to whisper secrets about Evelyn.

Evelyn had tried to tell her parents but they wouldn’t have her hysterical notions. No demon would go to such length for a weak, stupid mage like _her._

They were always around her; she attracted them like flies to honey. She was unnaturally gifted – powerful beyond reason and weak minded as a child. To them she was the easiest golden ticket to the real world in a very, very long time – and perhaps the shiniest as well.

In her body they could do as they pleased. And they almost did.

Evelyn was clutching her ribcage where she sat slumped on the stone floor as the memories came to her.

Her harrowing hadn’t gone well. In fact, it had gone the worst way possible; she was never allowed to perform it.

For years she studied at her circle, becoming the top most proficient mage and an envied conjurer. Her skills were unspoken of in years and her unusual talent for the magic arts baffled her mentors; but it was under high scrutiny as her psyche just wasn’t up to par with the power she held.

And she was told over and over to practice meditation, find her peace – _calm down._ But she couldn’t. She was furious over her parents believing she was garbage, sending her off as an unwanted child and shunned by her kin. She wanted to prove her worth even as a mage and it did not help when the mages _too_ told her to slow down; _calm down¸ **don’t get so worked up.**_

Evelyn remembered the day when she’d sat in the library, filling her mind with ancient lore and trying to quell the fury boiling in her heart. The demon that had approached her was stealthy, appearing in the shape of a mere apprentice at the circle – Evelyn could’ve sworn she even knew the apprentice.

It had spoken of the injustice forced upon Evelyn, and while Evelyn had at first tried to rationalize their decision to postpone her harrowing, she soon grew overwhelmed in the anger that set her skin aflame. What it spoke was like finding a drop of water in the scorching desert, or breathing the lively air after having been drowning all of her life.

It would free her; make her mind stronger than she could ever have imagined.

And she had accepted.

 

The aftermath of her decision had been devastating for both the circle and herself. Tranquility was merciful in the face of what the Templars would’ve done to her had the Grand Enchanter not restrained her first. Mages were burnt alive, electrified and frozen to death; and the immeasurable wealth of the circle’s library was forever tarnished.

Whatever life had followed was marked by her martyrdom as a tranquil. She was made example to all of the mages at the circle and then set to work.

 

Evelyn sucked in air and wiped her hair out of her face. Her gaze was blurry with the tears; stinging. She couldn’t be that child again.

She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, willing the pain away. She bit hard into her lower lip, drawing blood from its dry surface. The sobs died in her throat and she let her arms drop to her lap.

The modest altar with Andraste stood tall in front of her small figure. She had come to pray, to chant, but she couldn’t anymore.

Andraste wouldn’t listen to a worm writhing in its own wallows. If Evelyn was the Herald she would be her example. No pray would be heard from her lips – she created her own fate.

 

A conviction had festered in her brain then. Never would she be that child again.

Her face was blank as she stared at the dark gaze of the warrior bride. The shaking had dissipated and she sat still; only her own deep breaths could be heard in the chamber.

The demons would fear _her._

 

___

Solas was leaning against one of the carrying pillars of the grand hall in the chantry when Evelyn ascended the stairs from the dungeon.

She watched him as she approached, he heart beating true and steady. His eyes were scanning her before he gave a shallow bow.

“Herald.” He greeted shortly. Silence hung between them for a moment.

“Greetings, Solas.” Evelyn returned finally and settled her helmet under her arm.

“I believe I speak for everyone when I say, we follow you, Herald.” He started, his hands finding each other behind his back. She watched him with a certain distance.

“ _You_. Evelyn Trevelyan, our symbol of the Inquisition.” He ended, coming to stand by her side and gracefully sliding his hand up her forearm. She wasn’t as alarmed as she should’ve been, but rather regarded his lithe hand carefully. His aura wasn’t unsure as she’d felt it as before. It was steady, flowing like a river around her.

His fingers grasped under her arm and turned it up so her palm faced the sky, slowly he raised her cloth tunic arm; bunching it at the leather straps of her gauntlet.

He trailed his thumb down the middle of her forearm, following the veins that led into her wrist. She held her breath as a chill licked up her arm into her chest; into her heart. She felt like she knew what he was doing, but it was faint – a forgotten memory. Her skin hummed a faint green light.

Was he healing her?

“I follow you.” It was solemn, almost pained, but honest.

He looked up at her then, finding her tired eyes. He let her arm go, but she grasped his hand before he could pull away – she didn’t want him to stay away again.

“Thank you, Solas. Let there be no doubt that I would lend you my life in return.” She said resolutely. He nodded, hiding his arm behind his back once she let go. He diverted his gaze from hers, letting it fall on the floor.

She went ahead, straightening her cloth again. His eyes were on her back the moment she looked away, she could feel his intent gaze, but she did not feel fazed under its power.

She stopped at the gate of the chantry, wanting to look back to see him stand there, but she resisted and took a deep breath – entering the real world again.

 

Outside was busy with preparations. All across the yard walked several construction workers and guards, each helping the other in building the ballistae. The ugly war machines stood tall over Haven’s low walls. Evelyn saw the necessity, and sooner or later they’d come in use.

Along the carcasses of the machines stood Varric, chatting one of the female guards up. Iron Bull was bringing large logs over his shoulder, and Sera strode next to him. The two seemed to enjoy the other’s company. Evelyn could only imagine what the two would do in a bar, how much they’d drink before the other passed out.

Just after the pair walked Vivienne, Josephine following behind, seemingly sketching down the journal for today.

It seemed like life moved on even though her world stopped in her slight panic.

Evelyn scoffed at herself, but didn’t make a move to approach her companions. They didn’t need her right now.

“Listening, seeing. You thought you would see them by now. Where are the cats, the spiders-“

The voice whispered behind her, but Evelyn knew to whom it belonged already. After her dispute with the envy demon, Evelyn would never forget his voice.

“Good day, Cole.” Evelyn greeted, throwing him a glance over her shoulder. He stood leaning against the chantry wall, his broad hat hanging low over his pale visage.

“Good day… Herald. You are troubled. I heard you – I always hear, but now I’m here for you.”

Evelyn would’ve replied.

“You think you’d see the monsters now – no,demons. You wonder where they hide, if they’re watching. Ever-watching.”

She realized perhaps he’d always be in her head.

“You’re right. I wonder why they’re not spying on me.” She spoke low, stroking a hand across her throat. It wasn’t tight anymore, but she now identified the thoughts that made her want to stay still. It _was_ bothering her.

“Worry, your worry is greater than you’ve ever known. The balance on your shoulders – grasping, climbing for air – you’re crushed under its weight and now you’re you – no, a brighter you. I can barely hear – you’re too _alive_.”

Cole stepped forward, his voice clambering with pain and a discomfort that wasn’t his own. Evelyn looked away. She felt tired, too exhausted to let his words weigh her down.

“But you’re strong now, Evelyn. The demons are not here because you choose not to see them. Your choice – not theirs.”

She felt her forehead, fingers tracing the embossed skin there. Was she stronger?

“Cole, if you can tell me; do they follow me still?” She asked single-mindedly, eyes unfocused and mind searching for the control he said she was practicing over the demons.

“They do. They follow always, everyone, everywhere. Your shine entices them, scares them, they thought you were weaker.”

Cole stood by her side then, hands gesturing to her chest.

“They cannot claim you as long as you’re _you_.” Evelyn watched her chest rise and fall with her breathing.

“As long as I am me? How will that keep them away?”

Cole wasn’t there to answer anymore. She sighed, eyes wandering across the spot where he’d stood. She felt him somewhere, but she couldn’t see him.

She wouldn’t push it further, Cole was a sensitive being.

 

The sun hung lower on the sky when Evelyn had finished a stroll through Haven’s camps. None had come out to speak with her, as most sat dining the day’s rations. Evelyn didn’t want to disturb either way, but felt like she should at least tread the same ground as the templars. Their sizzling presences were far away now.

Her white hair and shining armour was hard to miss however, and several pairs of eyes watched her walk through. She felt like a lost ghost as she crossed the grounds, but she didn’t mind it as much as she might’ve before. The calm atmosphere, heavy with the pleasant murmuring of families talking and friends conversing, was everything she wanted.

A few weeks ago they struggled grasping the fleeting hope in the face of the Breach, and their Herald in pain. Now they spoke, made promises, had plans to complete once their Evelyn Trevelyan closed the demonic portal. Evelyn might’ve been discouraged at their trust in her, despite it being all to her credit, but now she held her head high. Truly, if she could not realize their dreams now then she wasn’t their Herald.

Blackwall and Cullen could be spotted across the numerous tents, sitting by a bonfire with several knights. It seemed to be a merry conversation as Blackwall’s mustache was upturned in a simper and Cullen grasped the closest knight’s pauldron in a brotherly fashion. Duty was calling her then, and Evelyn resisted the temptation to come closer.

After finding her pace again, Evelyn marched back to the chantry. The sunset coloured the sky orange and pink and soon the day would be over.

 

___

The day was concluded in the war room, where it had been decided that Evelyn would sit to receive inquiries and reports more efficiently. With papers stacked all around her, Evelyn had only been finished about half a stack of correspondence when Josephine had checked in.

She had brought an apologetic look and three more requests to be filled out. The ever-working woman had insisted that she help Evelyn with the massive paperweight, but Evelyn was stubborn in the notion of doing it herself, as to learn to handle the responsibility and get her diplomacy together.

Josephine had both expressed pride in her choice to learn the delicate balance that was Josephine’s profession and that Evelyn’s own stubbornness would be the end of her good nights.

Evelyn had darkly joked about there being no good nights anyway, and the antivan ambassador had chuckled, even if a slight _something_ passed over her gaze. Josephine had left then and Evelyn had returned diligently to her workload.

A few hours into the evening and a certain grey warden had come by to leave his own report of the camps and the templars. It was not an exemplary copy of good penmanship, but Evelyn was ever grateful for his work. He had to sit with her to explain his meaning still, but eventually it had been catalogued into Evelyn’s agenda.

The market would have to be expanded to weigh in the knights’ apprentices dinning with the commoners. The Templars would have to be spread out across the camp as to encompass all of the refugees’ safety more efficiently, and avoid it becoming “them” and “us” geographically. The younger knights were cocky in the face of meeting recruits from across Thedas, and quarrels had broken out between the youngest – all whilst the elders had petty squabbles to settle. It ached in Evelyn’s temples when Blackwall listed the several reasons as to _why_ they argued.

They’d have to address it in the _morning_. Blackwall apologized for bothering Evelyn and for only increasing her endless list of things needing to be done. She ensured him it was to no avail of hers, and he was welcome to bother her any time he wished.

He was at fault of words then, and only excused himself, yet again apologizing.

That man was just a big _‘sorry’_ written in tragic letters. Evelyn would have to speak with him soon enough.

 _Perhaps after she saved them_. She sighed, burrowing her knuckles into her temples. Perhaps her own name should be written in sad letters as well.

 

“Not used to the paperwork?” An amused voice carried through the thick, warm air in the war room. It was darkening outside and the candles that burnt in her temporary study were too warm to be sitting in armour around.

“Oh, I am certainly, commander.” She answered, poising her head onto her index finger and thumb, letting it rest against her heated cheeks. He filled the entire entrance of the room, blocking in more heat – or maybe bringing it.

He was holding a neat stack of _more paperwork_ in his hands, eyes regarding her with the same apologetic look Josephine had brought.

She wanted to sigh deeply, but only filled her lungs with air to quietly let it deflate her. She had brought it upon herself. She should’ve realized it wouldn’t be as easy when you didn’t actually feel boredom or restlessness as a tranquil.

He stepped up to the temporarily cleaned war table, handing her the dry papers. She took them with a nod, looking through them quickly before adding them onto their respective categorized stacks. It would seem she’d have to continue tomorrow as well. Her eyes were hooded in the sleepiness that slowly crept up on her over the hours.

“-writing bed in the margin.”

“Huh? Sorry?” Evelyn called; her eyes finding him again as he stood next to her then, having had circled the table to see her letter. He wasn’t prying, but rather commenting on something it seemed.

“You’re writing ‘I want a bed’ in the margin, Evelyn.” He mused, a smile on his lips.

Evelyn looked at her writing. She was way off of her sentence.

“So I did…” She said quietly, putting her pen down and running a hand over her temple to smooth out the mussed hairs.

“Perhaps it is time to get to that bed of yours, then.” He continued amused, stepping back as to give her space to get up. His voice was a bit lower than she was used to, with a fond huskiness she didn’t know he could have. Soft. She liked his _soft words._

Her lids felt heavier by the second, and she squeezed them shut before opening her eyes wider again. The whole mixture of voices and warmth and sleepiness really didn’t do her any good. It was surely time to go.

Evelyn shook her head. She couldn’t finish so soon – it was barely mid-

“Midnight, yes. In fact, I think it’s an hour past midnight. I thought there’d be none here at this time.” He finished for her. Was she talking aloud? She turned in her seat, looking at his crossed arms and his relaxed stance. His aura flowed around her; a pleasant heat _._ She wondered briefly if he was as _pleasantly warm_ under all of that hefty armour. Was his bed as soft as hers… as soft as his voice?

_What? Hush. You’re tired, go to bed._

“Hmm. Alright then, perhaps I should…” She pushed off of the table, coming up to stand still hunched over her letter.

A darkness swept her gaze and she closed her eyes tightly; dizziness stopping her from going on. She heard him move past her. She hadn’t realized she’d become so tired already. It was odd, but then again many things still left her wondering. Maybe emotions made normal people tire quicker…

It seemed like a lifetime before the darkness faded, and she gradually opened her eyes to see the table. It was exhausting not only to just sit around, but to remember so much from her childhood and battle the growing pit of worry in her stomach. She’d need the sleep, she figured.

The chilly wind howled over the chantry building.

Evelyn crooned her neck to see Cullen by the doorway again – his head tilted in wonder. He seemed still, unnaturally so. Frozen almost.

Something wasn’t right about the picture, as a slight _darkness_ stroked up his sides.

 

Two purple, glinting eyes hinted in the growing mist.

 

It was suddenly not as warm anymore.

 

She stood immovable. Eyes fixated at the figure that grew in the shadows. Her heart leapt a beat and her mouth was dry. _Demon,_ her thoughts whispered.

“Cullen…” she said, breathless. A worried expression coloured his features and he was grasping his sword intently.

“What do you see?” he said in a low, growling voice, as if whatever it was couldn’t hear him then.

“It’s… _She’s_ …” She stumbled over her words, coming to stand straight and step back, pushing her chair aside. She couldn’t breathe. Eyes were shot wide, staring at the monstrous appearance. Horns were solidifying from the darkness, a toothy smirk and pointed ears; two slender hands forming just after, pointing in Evelyn’s direction.

_I found you. You remembered me. My Evelyn, your thoughts betray you…_

A voice filled her head.

The mist licked the ground, inching closer to Evelyn, leaving Cullen as it moved. It was like a nightmare flashing before her as she stared into the feral eyes. She saw them under her bed at night when she was a child. Couldn’t he see it? It was filling the room.

_Is this the commander you worry yourself over? Mmmhm… I can see your troubles in the flesh, my Evelyn…_

Suddenly, it was right in front of her, hands coming to stroke over Evelyn’s forehead and chin.

_Oh, Evelyn… Whisper his name for me…_

“Cullen…” Evelyn croaked hoarsely, a moan startling her as the demon felt her skin – her mark. Her thought’s felt roused by her vicinity, reaching places she really did not want to imagine in the moment.

_See what that demon did to you, poor, poor girl._

The voice was like honey in her ears, its touch a fire under her skin. She wanted to escape her clothes then.

_I can fix you. Let me fix you, Evelyn…_

The floor opened up under Evelyn, and her heart froze as she fell. Darkness enveloped her absolutely, and Evelyn was unconscious.

 

 

Her fingers were grasping the sheets, knuckles turning white in her strain. She had been tensing on and off for a few hours that early morning.

Solas had been sitting with her since he’d been called. Cole appeared and disappeared regularly every half hour, constantly stating her dreams at that given moment.

Cullen hadn’t wanted to listen, it felt like something private, but alas he heard.

Her frantic running from the demons, her hiding and tired body; always hunted. Cullen wanted to ease her hand from the sheets, somehow calm her subtle thrashing. It hurt to watch her – looking feverish again with clammy skin and hair clinging to her damp temples.

Solas had healed her from time to time, but he explained it was for old wounds and nothing more. She didn’t need help.

He’d said she’d wake within the hour, and Cullen couldn’t leave then. The other council members had been there to check up on her, leave some information for their commander. He’d passed out some orders for them to complete in his stead, as they understood that he’d want to make sure she wasn’t plagued by demons still.

They could tell as much that he was blaming himself for not feeling the demon, only once it had touched him. They’d tried telling him off, not let him carry that kind of pain – having hurt the Herald just before a great happening. He could never forgive himself if she’d… If she’d fallen.

Of course, she was stronger than that, he chastised to himself as she fought the nightmares away. He only wanted to wait just a bit longer. Keep her safe a little more.

They sat in the chantry chamber, prepared as an infirmary. Evelyn had been moved to a cot, pampered with moist tissues to wipe her collar and face. Her armour had been disposed of and she lay in her cloth tunic and leather gear.

Cullen sat a chair away from her bed stand, Solas opposite to him. Solas seemed asleep; it wasn’t odd as he’d been up all night to check on Evelyn. Cullen had been with her most of it, only having to leave to speak with his second-in-commands and prepare them for the day to come. He too sat slumped, on the verge of getting some rest himself when she stirred in her cot.

She’d turned and brought the sheets up to her chin. She looked more peaceful than he’d seen all night and day. Her hair was brushed back by the movement, and she looked as healthy as the day he’d seen her. It was miraculous she could change any moment like that.

Suddenly, he realized he wasn’t looking at her gently closed eyelids, but her own blue eyes looking back at him.

“Evelyn, you’re awake…” he whispered hoarsely, moving to sit on the off-side of the chair, holding his hands as his elbows were poised on his separated knees. He must’ve looked wrecked as she grimaced, shivering into her fetal position. He sighed, smoothing down his blond curls.

“Mmm..” she said something intelligible, words swallowed by the sheets she hid her mouth behind. Cullen tilted his head at her, raising a brow over his tired eyes.

“Thank you… For watching me...” her eyes wandered over his person, and he nodded in return, glancing over at Solas. He sat still yet, head hanging and his arms crossed over his chest. The slow heaving of his chest could only say he was still asleep.

“Have you both been here…” she took a breath, “all night?”

Cullen looked back at her.

“Yes. Do not worry for us, Evelyn. How are you feeling?” he continued, instinctively reaching forward to put the back of his hand against her hot cheek. She mewled at his touch, closing her eyes, and he quickly retreated at the surprise. She hadn’t made sounds before.

“S-Sensitive. Sorry.” She whimpered, holding her much smaller hand over where he’d touched. He felt positively compromised by her reaction, squirming slightly as he sat back up, like an embarrassed teenager.

“Excuse me- uh. You had been very quiet all night. I didn’t expect- Uhm. Anyway,”

He scratched his neck and a meek smile spread on her lips as he did.

“What time is it?” she said at length, when he didn’t continue naturally. He snapped to her visage, eyes unfocused as they roamed over her face.

“I believe its noon, soon.” He replied, looking at the stairs that led up into the dungeon and further into the chantry. She rolled onto her back, draping one arm over her eyes.

“Could you tell me… what happened? I feel at loss at the moment.” Her voice was much more serious then, almost disappointed. He took a deep breath, filling his chest and sitting into his chair straight.

“I… I didn’t see it coming. I had not even an inkling of the damned _thing_ before you’d fallen prey.” He felt annoyed at recalling it, as any anger he’d felt before was subsided under the exhaustion he suffered.

“I could not strike it before it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared before you…” he was rolling a small stone between his index finger and thumb absently.

“You fell unconscious after having called my name. _Maker, take me,_ I didn’t even react then…” he threw the small object across the room and it was soundless. His breaths fell heavy on her ears and she understood his anger with the situation. A Templar that couldn’t protect a mage. No, the commander that couldn’t protect his Herald.

“I’m so very sorry,– I didn’t see, couldn’t feel it before it swept past me – You were clearly distressed; I should’ve reacted- I didn’t go faster-you fell and I was so dreaded – I thought I’d failed you then, and you-“ he rambled a long string of sorry words, spilling a piece of his heart to her, and she watched him. His eyes were slightly red and his hair mussed through frustration, surely. He sat in full armour, sword drawn and leaning against the wall next to him. His gloves were off and lying on the table next to her. He had taken care of her, just as Solas had. As he pleaded his case, his aura cried with him.

She slid her dainty hand up his own, splaying her fingers out over his palm and wrist. He silenced himself and looked at her.

“I do not blame you, Cullen. Please, feel no remorse for your actions – None could’ve stopped it.” She croaked, her index finger circling a vein in his arm. He sighed, cupping her hand with both of his.

“You are… impossible.” He chuckled, the sadness tinting his words. She didn’t like being called impossible, but in his voice it was a compliment. An exasperated compliment.

“I can be.” She whispered back, smiling at him before taking her hand back and starting to sit up. He immediately came to her bedside then, holding her elbow and putting a hand on her shoulder to help – she didn’t quite need it but she appreciated his concern. He stood on a knee in front of her once she sat by the edge of the cot, bare feet slowly treading the cold stone.

Solas was no longer in his chair, seemingly having sneaked out – or simply walked, he was just as quiet both ways.

Evelyn braced against the cot and stood. He followed her motion and came to stand in front of her, just a step distant. If she wanted, she could cant forward and touch her nose to his chin. But she tilted her head away, looking down to the bed stand. His gaze was fixed on her, but soon enough he backed away when she grabbed his gloves. He thanked her when she gave them to him and she nodded before scanning the small infirmary for her gear.

Further toward the exit stood her boots.

“I should say that a war council has been called for as soon as you had awakened. I shall send the word, at your leave.” Cullen explained behind her as he brought his sword into its sheath again, and readying himself to walk again after the stiff watch over Evelyn.

Evelyn nodded absently, thoughts swimming in questions. Cole had said they were ever-watching, but they wouldn’t reach her as long as she was herself. But now they had. Was she not herself then?

Cullen regarded her contemplate, cataloguing her face at the moment as her brows sat subtly knit over her eyes, and her teeth nipping at her lip. _She would not do well in a game of Wicked Grace- ah, uh… Now’s not the time for wicked grace either way, you fool. Pay attention._

“I need to speak with my companions. I’d be grateful if you’d convene the council, thank you.” Evelyn came about then, planning for a quick visit at Solas’ residence; and perhaps Cole, if he could spare his time from the refugee camps.

“As you say. I will see you within the hour.”

He hesitated as he passed her.

“And Evelyn…”

A slight tilt of her head and a closing of her mouth was her sign of paying attention.

“Stay safe – I will have no over-exertion on your part.”

“Cullen, if I wished my mother was here to berate me on safety, I’d have been inclined to stuff my ears with wheat.”

His lips quirked in a lopsided smile, and he gave her a brief bow before departing, perhaps urgent to feel his legs move after sitting for so long.

She took a breath, curling her toes against the icy stone floor. Boots, right.

 

 

“You _are_ stronger, Evelyn, but equally as desirable to demons.”

Solas stood immovable in his study, arms knit behind his back.

“Stronger, brighter, larger than ever before. It scares the weak but sings to the powerful. Stalking, preying upon the weaker, nothing as pleasing as your song.”

Cole sat hunched up on Solas’ bed, ignoring any thoughts that the elven apostate sent his way.

“But you said they wouldn’t get to me as long as I am me. One did, and it was one I’d seen before, as a child.” Evelyn began again, frustrated over the lack of answer she was getting from the two. She had to be able to protect herself against demons again, with her magic back in her body.

“It is true that the real you, with emotions just as any human, are harder to approach now after you’ve been… handling demons before tranquility. Your mind is sounder with a stable mental state. All you need to do is control those emotions, savour them. I imagine that in the moment the demon found you, you must’ve been weaker, succumbing to some emotion more strongly all whilst your body needed rest.”

Solas lectured on, his gaze unwavering and his voice calm, but it didn’t soothe her. The answer was far too real then.

“Ah.. Yes. Perhaps…”

“Warm. Such heat… Soft hands, soft bed. Tired and distracted he filled my mind… I felt.”

Evelyn stared needles at Cole. She did not need his constant intrusion into her thoughts.

“Forgive me, I thought it would help. To know helps you. You used to be happy when you knew certainty.”

She sighed, her head heavy on her shoulders and her armour uncomforting. She was being foolish. Solas quirked a brow at her, his haughty look only compromised by a slight tint to his ear tips. So he imagined something for himself.

“Yes. I was not quite myself, I realize.”

“But is the danger so imminent then? Will I never be able to rest?”

Solas considered her words, his gaze flicking over to Cole’s still form.

“Perhaps not. I must admit I have not felt such urgency of demons in Haven since the Breach was made. Something you’ve done is razing them, leading them to you.”

Evelyn had no answer for him. She wouldn’t know what she’d done. Solas nodded.

“Of course, you would not do it consciously…”

Cole stood then.

“Yes, the emotions. They’re like water in the desert. You’re constantly thirsty, always searching for the water… They want you, oasis. Emotions raw and novel, they clamber to feel it… So close.”

His voice was passionate and his gestures emboldened by what he heard.

“They’re angry. The Breach gives them access but you’re too loud. Too bright. They want to hurt you, Evelyn – but I would never let them. I am here for you. For everyone that hurts.”

“What he’s trying to say is that your emotions are empowered by your fade-touched scar. You are directly connected with the Breach and you’re teetering on the edge of their vision. They’ve attracted each other to follow you in the fade. As long as the Breach is up there, they will slowly gain power to cross into our realm; take form and try to tempt you.”

Solas spoke as if it was just made clear to him.

“The desire demon was only the first of many to have gained the willpower to cross. Closing the Breach will set them back many times over.”

Evelyn rose from her perch on the window sill. Her face was set in determination.

“Then I know what I must do.”

 

 

“The Breach will be closed by tomorrow.”

Josephine gasped.

“No. We can absolutely **not** approach closing the Breach so soon. Impossible.”

Cassandra growled back, her hands splayed over the map of Thedas. She had not expected the thoughtful Evelyn to want to rush headfirst into the hazardous summit. It was suicide.

Cullen stood stiff, eyes darkened under his prominent frown as he looked through Evelyn.

“Impossible.” Cassandra echoed herself, straightening into a stand and crossing her arms defensively.

Leliana was stone-like in her disregard for the whole matter.

It wasn’t going to be easy to convince the inquisition of its importance.

 

“It’s imperative that we do. The demons will never stop pestering the people unless we act, and soon. A month is an eternity and a sea of _death_. I am not ready to stand by the sidelines of such sorrow as their Herald.”

Cassandra glared at Evelyn, clearly perturbed by her sudden change of heart and aggressive nature.

“Is this derived from your encounter with the demon?” She began again, voice lowered dangerously and head tilted down; only increasing the intimidating stare she was already glowering at Evelyn with.

“Partially, but it is not simply I who suffer in the wait. Every magical soul out there will be thousand fold assaulted by demons! The breach spurs them on, and makes the usually meek demons bold and dangerous. Time is crucial in saving as many of them as possible, before we have a break-out of abominations.”

Evelyn shuddered out the last word, willing herself not to imagine her own failure.

Cullen sighed, fingers massaging over the bridge of his nose as his face scrunched up in discomfort.

“Evelyn, we simply cannot put you through the risk of battling the Breach without the full aid of the Templar veterans. We only have a few gathered so far, and we require far more. You could die.”

His voice was exasperated and pleading for her to not fight their decision. Evelyn stood with her lips parted and eyes flickering over their cold faces. They were going to let the demons roam free for _her sake?_

“I can’t believe you’re postponing it due to my liability. My death is nothing compared to the countless that’ll be lost in a chaos of demons!” her voice struck a high and she gestured forcefully at the council. How could they do that?

“What point is there to attempt to _fail_ , herald? You trusted the Templars with the task of aiding you, and now we must wait for them. There is nothing more to it.”

Leliana jut in from her corner as she met Evelyn’s disbelieving gaze. She scoffed, letting her arms fall limply to her sides. She took in their expressions; they were very much decided. A sour stone sunk in her stomach and she felt helpless.

“Please, Evelyn. This is warfare; lives are lost at each battle won. We cannot fathom what will ensue if we lost our only _hope_.”

Cullen continued, brows suddenly drooping in a sorrowful manner. He looked defeated even thinking about it. Evelyn felt her face harden and wrinkle in anger.

“ _Hope,_ councilors, is frail and a luxury spared to few. The longer I await my end, the more blood is spilled on my hands. Hope will be roiled in the aftermath.”

She hissed, positively fuming with their acceptance of that fact. They watched her.

“We know.” Josephine spoke gently, eyes just returning to the herald after having stared distantly at her agenda.

Evelyn bit her lip hard. It was enough. If she did not cool herself then her anger would take form through fire and brim.

To elude herself with thinking they’d bend now was foolish. They knew more than her; had experienced more, but she could not understand their stubborn notion of _death_ being a necessity in it.

Evelyn understood the herald of Andraste existing, she understood her need to be strong in the face of doom and she understood the protocol of guards and war machines. Death came to everyone, but to let it pass amongst them, cutting down the weak and haunted like weeds… She did not understand. Her life was worth little compared to everyone who died in the inquisition’s name; _her name_. How many had thrown themselves over the rifts, thinking that they could save their home like Evelyn Trevelyan did? How many had picked up a sword in hope that like her, they too could defend life with only hope as their armour?

She would not fail. She would never fail, as if to only save the life of a fellow. She’d master herself and quell her powers.

“I believed that the inquisition was created with the greater good as the purpose, but it seems like the faith on which it was founded upon is wavering. You let me be your Herald, so now trust in me when I say I will never relent in the possibility of being just what the people need me to be.”

She took a breath.

“If there is one thing I learned as a tranquil, it is that logic is cold and heartless but truthful. I bring you that now. If every magical creature in Thedas can be spared the nightmares and void that is the plague of demons, I would give up myself.”

“The breach could as well consume me in the closing.”

The council regarded her cooly, each character distancing themselves from wanting to agree or disagree with her. Leliana stood in shade of her hood, just as Josephine had her eyes cast down onto her journal. Cullen was eyeing Evelyn intently and she stood tall, not letting his gaze unnerve her. Cassandra seemed positively irate with Evelyn even suggesting that it was a good idea, but now she’d retreated into a hardened visage with no tell-tale signs of her thoughts. Evelyn held a breath.

 

Suddenly, a loud ruckus echoed in the hall just outside of the war room. The party was startled to stare at the door, and just as Cullen had begun moving to open it, an inquisition scout burst through it.

“Abomination!” he exclaimed with his sword drawn and hood drawn back. Evelyn gasped, her eyes widening as a profound silence screamed in the room. The scout was panting loudly as he began repeating the word, explaining what and where this abomination was.

Cullen and Cassandra were the first to rush with the scout out, Leliana and Josephine following close behind. As Evelyn came to, the noises of _something_ outside grew louder. Hurrying to catch up with the others, a fear gripped her grimly. _An abomination, in Haven!_

Outside, a tall tower of smoke was rising from the refugee camps. Cullen and Cassandra were sprinting down from the chantry toward the distant camp, Cullen shouting after his troops to follow him there.

A panic had settled in Haven as the news spread like wildfire, and Evelyn saw many of their companions rushing out of their way to follow the main party down the path to the camps. Workers and refugees alike were in stress to secure Haven or themselves, and the chantry sisters were already out to urge the non-combating folks into the building.

Evelyn stood frozen in her step as she became an immovable pillar in the sea of people running to get away from whatever the pillar of smoke was foreboding. Faces of fear coloured her vision wherever she looked.

Now she had to protect them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight begins and ends.

Evelyn steeled herself in her boots, taking a deep breath as her senses returned to her. She started into a sprint.

 

Her heart beat frenetically in her chest as she approached the gate of Haven leading into the training grounds. The smoke cloud grew larger, darker and more foreboding; it appeared to be coming just outside of Haven, somewhere around the area of the old alchemist’s abode. Evelyn darted between the scurrying crowds, raptly analyzing the figures that were following her trajectory: a few soldiers, Rylen and Solas seemed to be the last few with her to react to the sudden attack. Despite Evelyn’s tall and rather lanky stature, she slipped past the panicked souls swiftly, many of them attempting to give their herald way once they realized it was indeed her – if she’d had time and mind, she might’ve thanked them for thoughtfulness during such distressing times.

Once at the gate, Evelyn shouldered her way into it, flinging it open with Solas and Rylen following close behind.

The sight was monstrous.

Hundred feet ahead of her towered a gigantic nightmare; a mottled skull full of dagger-like teeth, with a thick scaly bodice connecting two overgrown limbs, each ending in bastard sword long crooked claws. The beast must’ve been over ten feet tall as it stood on its two beefy limbs. Its hollow eye sockets looked empty at first, as it stood seemingly frozen in place, but in the moment Evelyn took in its visage, the sockets flared up with green lightning – not unlike the lightning that cascaded from the Breach in the very same manner.

Evelyn had stopped in her confident stride, eyes unable to move from the ghoulish visage of the abomination. It stared back at her.

Suddenly, an arrow flew past her air, burrowing deep inside one of the sockets. Evelyn dropped to one knee as the heaven-piercing roar resounded across the field, she clasped her fists over her ears – her heartbeats drowned out the sound of the others shouting. Any and all combatants nearby reacted to it. Sera, from whom the arrow had been released, cursed foul sentences and wracked another arrow into her bow, sending it off unfocused. The second arrow failed to hit the abomination as it slashed it out of the air.

As if time had stood still since Evelyn opened the gate, it now passed by too fast. Cassandra and Cullen had risen their shields against the gigantic, tree-trunk-thick arms swinging against the soldiers approaching the abomination. The clinging of metal and the shouting of troops filled the air, accompanied by the other-worldly sounds the creature emitted as it fought them, enraged as one of its eyes went cold. Evelyn sat still, her eyes only just finding the beastly demon again.

Sera swished past her, taking a determined half circle route around the target as she fired arrow, after arrow. Rylen had charged forward, sword high in hand as he flanked it, attempting to slash at its heels, but finding the hide as resilient as any shield. The monstrosity kicked back at the captain then, sending him crashing into a nearby tree. Cullen called out, driving his shield into its knee just as Varric sent two bolas across its left palm. Continuously, Dorian and Solas started casting balls of fire and ice, hitting the creature over its collar. It roared, using its closed hand to power through a whole row of soldiers, sending both them and Cassandra flying back.

Evelyn reacted then, pushing her stiff legs forward and catching Cassandra and another soldier in their fall. No words were exchanged as Evelyn assured the two were alright enough, and she pushed forward again, drawing her shield and sword from their places. She took a deep breath as she rose the shield whilst she charged the beast. It noticed her approaching, raising a clawed palm above its head to strike down. Evelyn took to a knee in her speed, sliding in the snow as the palm came down like thunder. She almost crumbled in the force, losing some air from her chest in the form of a groan. She had to protect them. In the moment of the hit following, she thrust her sword upwards from under the edge of the shield, and struck deeply into the underarm of the creature. It roared gutturally and tried to sweep Evelyn away from under her shield with its other palm. Evelyn barely had time to retreat with her sword and move her shield to her side as the other arm came swinging, throwing her to an icy pile of snow. Two soldiers rushed to her side, trying to help their Herald up. Her ribs ached and her head was bleeding slightly from the fall, but she stood eventually, joining the two in a more aggressive approach from the left side.

Blackwall came charging into its right side at the same moment, driving his grey steel into its hip and embedding it in the bone. The abomination twisted painfully, wracking lightning across its undead skull as if its rage only spurred it on. A toothed maw snapped after the grey warden whilst he tumbled back, only just out of reach from certain death. The Iron Bull slashed just from under its head then, seemingly coming out of nowhere. His large axe clamped its mouth shut and made it stagger a step backward all whilst Cullen ordered a pushed for the nearby Templars to overpower it.

Lightning had started arcing wildly over its body, electrocuting several soldiers as they made contact with the conductive scales of its ungodly body. Several bodies already laid strewn in the cold snow. Evelyn seemingly avoided the lightning, all whilst taking several blows against her shield trying to defend the people around her.

A deafening aura emanated around the Templars then. Cullen included seemed to be chanting something out of ears reach, and moment by moment the lightning crackled and subsided. All the while, Dorian and Solas accompanied each other’s magic with a doubly added grasp from the earth: two gigantic palms of bedrock rose from the ground, shaking the area as they formed around the monster’s legs. It struggled wildly, clubbing and slashing around itself, screams echoing from its deathly maw, roars and screeches mixing together as it grew wilder and angrier each attack it took. Varric and Sera had come to circle it fully, both setting up their bow and crossbow with tethered shots. Upon release, they pushed back, letting their projectiles burrow deep in the backside of the creature’s arms. On the ground where they stood, two chains extended from the rope that sat tied, and the two of them pulled hard to drag its arms back and down. Any soldier still left standing came to their aid, adding to the force and slowly making it crumble back. The Iron Bull, Blackwall and even Rylen fathomed the chains.

The abomination panted heavily, its roars subsiding into gurgling and hissing breaths. Fatigue gripped it as its spine became distorted from their pull, the Templars magic cancelling, and the wounds that continuously seeped black blood.

Evelyn lowered her shield arm, shaking in the tiredness that overwhelmed her from taking its free armed hits. She breathed. Vertigo threatened to tip her over, and with the chilly wind freezing her to the bone, she fully regretted not finding her cloth gambeson before donning her armor.

A moment fell over the troops that had fought. Evelyn let her arms descend from their cramped position, her shield dropping into the snow. Broken bodies coloured the snow red. As the sun had begun leaving the sky, it cast a somber orange light over the scene. The herald shook as the wind picked up slightly. She looked down. Just a foot from her, a young man laid on the ground: his hand extending toward the heralds feet, his body as still as the earth itself. Light snow blew across his sweat-frozen armor. Blood had pooled at his chest. Evelyn clenched her jaw tight, and fell to her knee, allowing her blue fingers to touch the soldier’s knuckles. His deathly cold trumped her own.

Several of the Templars had taken a stand from their chanting, looking to their pained Herald. Cassandra stood supported by Blackwall. Everyone watched in silence as their hope sat slumped over, holding a dead soldiers hand. Tears glistened down her cheek, freezing in their path.

 

Just then, the Breach churned in the distance, making everyone twist to see it.

Arcs of green and yellow lightning crackled from its source, visibly exploding rocks and debris from the mountain summit. A loud clapping thunder rumbled over the fields, down into Haven. Evelyn closed her eyes tight, stilling in her shaking.

_ Thief… _

A dreadful whisper hissed in Evelyn’s ears, making her look up toward the Breach.

_ You stole it… _

Her heart skipped a beat and her red eyes stung from the open reach her distressed features gave the wind.

**_Give it to me._ **

The voice boomed like the thunder in her ears and Evelyn screamed out… and so did the abomination. A mournful, savage rumble of unearthly tones. Its spine cracked and echoed over the snow as an invisible power forced it upright. Any few who’d reacted to this were too late to grasp the chains again. They snapped and dropped to the earth, whom it too shook in the face of this ancient weaving magic that had entered the undead creature. Its eyes started anew, spewing lightning across its body just like the Breach. It flew off of its scales, bouncing lightning over the ground as well. Everyone backed off as it hunched forward, breaking off in the middle to fall heavily onto ground. The demonic black blood spewed from its still earth buried legs. An explosion of lightning emitted from its skull as it roared once more, splitting apart in the middle. Everyone was pushed back then, flying. As madness filled the half-dead thing, it began crawling toward Evelyn, leaving a trail of blood behind.

Evelyn watched in despair as she reeled back, a sea of voices and pleas filled her head. They prayed her name, screamed it, begging her for mercy, blood curdling whispers of past, present and future.

_ Forgive me… Inquisitor… _

The sun passed behind the mountains.

Evelyn stared at it. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak as it enclosed on her. A few of the warriors that were sent flying stood up, discombobulated and only just seeing what the monster was trying to reach.

_ I couldn’t resist… _

This voice. Evelyn recognized it.

“Adan…?”

The monster slowed. Hesitation twitched in its muscles and Evelyn’s eyes widened in realization. Adan had succumbed.

With renewed power, the monster pushed forward, faster than before. Its ragged breath roiled with the blood spilling out of its toothed grin.

Nothing seemed able to stop it as the dreadful  _ wrongness _ had entered their vicinity. Hope diminished as it slashed back any who tried to stop it. Any screams of Evelyn’s name fell on deaf ears. The wind blew hard, driving snow and hail into the eyes of all that saw. Magic swirled in the air, passing through them all, filling them with fear. The stars cowered behind dark storm clouds in the sky.

Evelyn stared through it.

Adan had become something she too had failed to avoid. The sweet, intelligent and curious Adan.

Suddenly she stood, as only fifty feet remained. A green, swirling light shone seemingly from inside her chest as she did. Her eyes seemed hazy as the night enveloped them all with only the Breach’s sick green power as light-source.

Ten feet away, Evelyn rose her marked hand with sword in palm, aiming it at the imminent death.

Five feet away, she asked forgiveness from the gods and beyond.

A scream silenced the cacophony of voices that shouted after their herald.

 

Gently, the harsh whipping winds slowed into a breeze. Thunder dulled into the distance. Every crevice of nature held its breath.

Evelyn stood in place, her sword stretching forward and  _ through _ . No lightning cracked across her metal weapon, nor into her skin. It was quiet around her, the green glow that had filled her was gone. 

At the end of her sword, the alchemist Adan laid.

The Breach had stilled in the very moment.

_ A pawn, little thief… that’s all you are… _

A last echo shook through the herald as she fell forward. Arms enveloped her.


End file.
